


Swallow Nests

by boorishbint



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Angst, Cultural Differences, Falling In Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Longing, M/M, Mild Language, Now with art included!, Pining, Reunions, Romance, Slow Burn, Thank you so much to all the talented and wonderful people who drew for this story, everyone can see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 103,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boorishbint/pseuds/boorishbint
Summary: Mumriks? They do as they like. If they see the path on the horizon somewhere, they forget everything else. That's Mumriks for you. Not very loyal.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
_Art by Sunny_ \- [link](https://boorishbint.tumblr.com/post/187159788534/sunnypsychotic-sweet-creature-sweet-creature)  
  
*/

  
'Have you ever seen magic, Snufkin?’

Snufkin’s hat, which is all Moomin can see of his friend from where he’s bent down over the fire, bobs its point back towards him as Snufkin raises his head. ‘You mean something different from the trees or seasons?’

‘Yes,’ Moomin says, tapping the small branch in his paw against his knee. ‘I mean magic with purpose.’

‘All magic has purpose, Moomintroll.’

‘Magic on purpose then. Like what the Witch does, but… different.’

Snufkin doesn’t answer that straight away, settling back from the fire. He shuffles across the grass until he’s back next to Moomin again. It’s cold for a Spring evening, not quite bright yet as the dusk will be come Summer and the fire is very welcome. Even if the one branch Moomin has picked didn’t make it in there in the end.

‘What’s brought this on?’ Snufkin asks finally, reaching into the pocket for his pipe. He’s smiling under the brim of his hat, that much Moomin can see. ‘Fallen under a bewitchment, have you?’

Moomin pokes the dirt with the end of his stick. ‘Do you think that’s possible? Like in stories and things, for people to get cursed?’

‘My, my,’ Snufkin says, popping his lips on the end of his pipe as he lights it. He looks up and meets Moomin’s eye, curiosity so flattering on his features as it always is, Moomin thinks. ‘This is all sounding very serious, I must say. Should I hurry up and answer your question before you turn into a toad on me?’

‘Don’t tease me,’ Moomin says, uselessly as Snufkin laughs through his pipe. Smoke billows in the crisp Spring air. ‘Was just asking, is all.’

Snufkin hums, blows smoke up and away from Moomin’s face but Moomin can smell it anyway. ‘I’ve seen blessings a few times. A curse only once. But nothing dramatic, nothing like your books, I’m afraid.’

‘What was the curse?’

Snufkin ducks his head, hiding again. Moomin waits, but Snufkin doesn’t answer and instead the fire cracks between them as it grows hot over something brittle. Moomin considers what to say next. Sometimes, Snufkin goes very quiet and it would be over in a moment. Other times, he goes cold and sharp like one of the rocks on the shore. And it would last days.

Moomin reaches out, touching Snufkin’s arm. His smallest finger is too low, goes over the edge of Snufkin’s sleeve and touches the skin of his wrist. For some reason, Moomin can’t stop looking at it. Like a weed that’s grown too far, right over the pebbles and into the flower bed.

‘I-uh.’ Moomin has quite forgotten what he was going to say. He’s still staring at how brown Snufkin’s skin is under the firelight. Brown as a berry, Mama says.

 _All that time following after the sun,_ she says. _Like a swallow._

So silly a thing. They’ve held paws hundreds of times. But moments like this Moomin is always so worried about saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing. Being close tended to fall into the latter category, experience has taught Moomin.

Moomin breathes in, trying to think of something to say and- _coughs._  
  
Smoke. He looks up, broken from his thoughts as Snufkin is facing him and in doing so shared his pipe smoke. Snufkin takes his pipe from his mouth with his other hand, looking apologetic. Just like that, the humour floods back.

‘Just so you know, you are my best-friend,’ Moomin says, snatching both his paws away under the pretence of waving the smoke from his face. ‘But that pipe is truly the worst.’

‘Sorry, Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says, brushing the end of Moomin’s snout with his sleeve as though ash had landed there.

‘I mean it. If there’s a curse out there to get you to stop smoking that awful thing, I’d cast it in a heartbeat.’ Moomin lifts the stick in his hand and waves it, like he might a magic-wand and Snufkin laughs in that quiet manner of his.

‘Moomin-’

‘But if you ask me, it’d be a blessing. For me and everyone else.’

‘Daft troll,’ Snufkin says softly, head shaking. ‘Forget about my pipe, will you and tell me instead what has you thinking about magic.’

‘It’s something Papa said,’ Moomin says and Snufkin is all interest again. There’s bark on the yew tree past the brook’s mouth that’s the exact colour of Snufkin’s eyes right now; Moomin knows because he’s thought it before as he thinks it again. ‘About one of his adventures. Has he ever told you the story of the Fáinleog Island?’

Snufkin shakes his head, lowering his pipe.

‘He said there’s flowers there that never die, even in Winter, because of a spell,’ Moomin continues and Snufkin watches him, his attention and the fire making Moomin very warm all of a sudden. ‘A special kind of spell that comes from missing someone. He said that there was a Nisse that used to look after a farmer’s barn on the island while he Hibernated for the Winter, and she missed him so much, she wouldn’t stop crying. And her warm tears, filled with missing, kept the flowers alive. Now, years later and she’s gone, and the farmer’s gone, but the flowers are still there because the magic was so strong.’

Moomin is trying very hard not to look at Snufkin, but he can’t help himself, steeling glances over to watch how thoughtful Snufkin is becoming to look.

‘That is quite the story,’ Snufkin says after a moment of quiet, eyes back to the fire. He puffs his pipe, other hand now tugging on the end of his scarf. ‘But you were talking about magic on purpose. And doesn’t sound like the poor Nisse was magicking so.’

‘Yes, well-’ Moomin stammers, clearing his throat. ‘That’s just it. If you had magic strong enough to keep flowers blooming in the snow, even when you’re not there, then…’

Suddenly, Moomin thinks this isn’t a very good idea at all and he snaps his mouth shut with it. He doesn’t realise how tightly he’s holding the stick in his paw until he hears it crack. Moomin jumps from it, closer now to Snufkin and Snufkin closes a small hand on Moomin’s shoulder.

‘Moomintroll?’ he says and Moomin forces an awkward laugh from himself, dropping the broken stick.

‘You- you know, I think I’ve actually forgotten what I was going to say!’ Moomin lies- terribly by the way Snufkin instantly frowns. But Moomin stands up anyway, barreling straight ahead with it because even a poor lie is better than one half-told. ‘And it’s getting pretty dark, if I stay any later I might get lost!’

Snufkin’s frown only gets deeper and Moomin can feel the embarrassment pour all the way down from the tip of his ears to the end of his toes as Snufkin turns his head, looking at where Moominhouse stands proud just across the stream.

‘Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says again, clearly confused. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘What?’ Moomin says, voice unpleasantly high, even to his own ears. ‘No. Don’t be silly. Nothing like that. I’m just so tired. All of a sudden.’

‘All of a sudden,’ Snufkin repeats, quieter. Moomin nods, humming too brightly as he does so.

‘Yes, so I’d better-’

Snufkin stands up rather quickly, catching Moomin off-guard. He’s left his pipe on the grass and stands, watching Moomin strangely. His berry-brown fingers are twitching and Moomin’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to them- anything, to avoid Snufkin’s eye.

‘You’re not under a spell, are you, Moomintroll?’

Moomin replies eloquently along the lines of _uuhhh._

Snufkin pinches his own chin. ‘I know a thing or two about breaking a spell, you know.’

‘You do?’ Moomin asks, distracted but the fact. Snufkin nods once, hiding his eyes beneath his hat, before he steps forward boldly. Moomin steps back, on instinct, but Snufkin is too quick. Right on Moomin’s snout, the very end of his nose, Snufkin has placed two fingers. They barely brush but Moomin is so very sensitive there.

He shivers from it and the fire is beautiful in Snufkin’s eyes, orange and bent like a bean. Moomin doesn’t mean to stare, but stare he does. Snufkin stares back, equally quiet before he starts to smile. Snufkin’s face looks like a knot undone when he smiles.

‘Hello, again,’ Snufkin says softly, moving his hand away and keeping Moomin’s eye. ‘Come back to me, have you?’

‘I… I didn’t go anywhere,’ Moomin replies weakly but Snufkin huffs a laugh.

‘Quite.’ Snufkin doesn’t move away, keeps hovering close and Moomin’s heart is some kind of fluttering bird all of a sudden. Close is as close does, of course. But that was before Snufkin touched him… like that. ‘Now, tell me what you wanted to tell me.’

‘About what?’

‘About the Nisse and her flowers.’

‘It wasn’t about the flowers,’ Moomin says and Snufkin chuckles again. ‘Or not really. Look, it really doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters to you, and if it matters to you then it matters to me.’

‘That’s…’

Rather lovely, all things considered, but Moomin doesn’t know how to say that really.

‘Nice,’ he settles on and the corner of Snufkin’s mouth drops. Just a bit, but Moomin notices all the same. ‘But what I wanted to know was if you’d ever met someone with magic like that who couldn’t do it on purpose, I guess. I mean, most people who cast spells know they’re doing it, right?’

‘On most occasions, it’s rather a necessity.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Moomin says, bunching his paws into little fists over and over as his chest goes tight. ‘But I just can’t stop wondering why she didn’t… I don’t know. Why she didn’t cast a different spell, I guess.’

Snufkin blinks, leaning back slightly. ‘What kind of spell do you think she should’ve cast instead?’

‘If she missed the farmer so much she could keep dead things alive, then why didn’t she just…’ Moomin sucks on his bottom lip for a second, doubting himself again but he’s already come this far. ‘Why didn’t she just use her magic to the keep the farmer from Hibernating and leaving her in the first place? I mean, she must’ve been able to, right?’

‘Perhaps she knew the farmer wouldn’t like that.’

‘Would he have known the difference though? Perhaps he would’ve even been happier if she’d done that instead, you know?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Snufkin says and he does sound unsure. ‘Her magic came from missing him.’

‘I think she’d rather have him than the magic, Snufkin. I know I would.’

‘Have a farmer instead of magic?’ Snufkin asks incredulously and Moomin groans loudly, rubbing his face with both paws.

‘No, Snufkin, not the farmer! Or the magic either, really! Ah, what a mess!’ Moomin pushes his paws up and over his ears, itching beneath his pelt. He’d had the whole thing so very well planned out, since before Winter and now it was all coming rather spectacularly apart. ‘I mean, I’d prefer to have who I was missing if it was within my power to do so.’

‘What’s that got to do with magic though? Even if you had the magic for that, you wouldn’t keep someone who wanted to be gone, would you?’ Snufkin asks but there’s an edge to his voice and Moomin’s heart drops like a stone.

‘I… might. Depending on the person.’

Snufkin has gone very still.

Moomin deflates. He knew this would happen. Somehow, he just knew.

‘Snufkin-’

‘I think you’re right, Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says firmly, smile not near as fond. ‘It is getting quite late and you should definitely head to your own soft bed.’

‘Oh, Snufkin, wait,’ Moomin tries to say but Snufkin has already turned away. He bends down to pick up his pipe, brushing off dirt that isn’t there. ‘I didn’t mean… I just wanted to talk about-’

‘Yes, yes. Very late indeed,’ Snufkin says, clearly not listening or at least trying not to. He tips his hat, eyes fixed on the forest floor. ‘Goodnight, Moomintroll.’

And just like that, Snufkin bends and slips into his tent. Moomin doesn’t even get another word out before the zipper is up, incredibly loud in the quiet of their evening and quite quickly, Moomin is standing by the fire on his lonesome.

Moomin looks at Snufkin’s tent for a while, struggling to decide on calling on Snufkin or heading home, before deciding that he could scream til his fur turns blue and Snufkin wouldn’t come. No, not Snufkin. Not once he’d retreated like that.

Stubborn Mumrik.

Miserable, Moomin kicks some dirt onto Snufkin’s fire until it peeters out. He takes a bit longer than necessary, waiting vainly that Snufkin might change his mind. But in the end, Moomin accepts defeat and starts back towards Moominhouse.

Little My is waiting on the porch when he arrives, turning an already sour mood into practically curdled.

‘Trouble in paradise?’ she asks with a snigger. Moomin doesn’t even have the energy to answer her, nor ask what it is she’s doing with what appears to be a rather suspicious amount of wire.

‘Goodnight, Little My.’

‘Wow,’ she says as Moomin walks past. ‘Must’ve been something if Snufkin used up all your fight so there’s none left for me.’

Upstairs, Moomin looks out his window at where Snufkin’s tent stands by the stream. No fire, no lantern. It appears to all that Snufkin has turned in early. Moomin wavers for a moment, before unlatching his window and opening it. He unhooks the rope ladder, lets it fall down the house.

Getting into bed despite the early hour, Moomin accepts the chill Spring wind that fills his room. If there’s a chance, even a small one, that Snufkin might see the invitation and take it, then Moomin would risk a thousand colds.

*/

Snufkin’s tent is gone the next morning.

Moomin runs down to the stream, stares dumbly at where the grass is flat and the charred fire pit left behind. Something goes very cold in Moomin’s gut.

He knew it had been too risky. Too stupid to even try to bring it up, even in a roundabout way. And now Snufkin’s gone and run off, like he always does when Moomin holds too tight. Or if anything does, really. Moomin has never felt more aware of his own un-specialness than he does in this moment.

Snufkin can’t see an offer without seeing a snare, and despite all these years, Moomin still doesn’t know how to work around that, it seems.

Moomin checks the mailbox, half-relieved and half-disappointed to see there’s nothing inside. While Snufkin running off at dawn without a word is most certainly not pleasant, at least Moomin knows he hasn’t left the valley entirely. Not even in his most sombre of moods would Snufkin leave without saying _goodbye,_ after all.

Moomin wishes he felt as certain of that as he might’ve done yesterday.

Back in Moominhouse, Moomin returns to his bedroom only to be followed in by Little My.

‘Don’t you have someone else’s day to ruin?’

‘Perhaps, but I’m getting the impression Snufkin beat me on that already, too,’ Little My says to Moomin’s gripe. Moonin throws himself onto the bed, face first into the soft pillow. He listens to Little My’s _pat-pat-pat_ come closer.

Moomin yelps when Little My suddenly leaps on top of him.

‘Do you have any idea how insufferable you are?’ Moomin says, rolling over in the hopes of dislodging her but Little My simply jumps, now landing on his stomach with a flop. Moomin gasps, winded.

‘Actually, I have a pretty fair idea and endeavour to exceed all expectations where possible,’ Little My says baldly, tossing a small ball she has with her from one hand to the other. ‘Go on then. Tell me what happened.’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘No? Guess Snufkin just ran off for no reason then?’

‘Not _no reason,_ no,’ Moomin admits, thinking of that blank look Snufkin had given him over the fire. ‘We had a… disagreement.’

Little My tosses the ball at Moomin’s face, catching it expertly from where it bounces off his nose.

‘Hey!’

‘If you’re going to lie like Pinnochio, I may as well make use of your big nose!’ Little My barks and Moomin rubs at where the ball hit him. Not quite, but close to where Snufkin had pressed his fingers the night before.

Moomin goes hot and cold thinking about it at the same time.

‘I’m not lying,’ he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling. ‘It’s true.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Tough luck, then,’ Moomin says and Little My makes an impatient huff.

‘You two never fight. Are you keeping secrets?’ Little My chucks the ball again, but this time Moomin catches it.

‘No, but even if I was, I’d hardly tell you, would I?’ Moomin shoves Little My off him and she squawks as she goes, landing with an _oof_ onto the bed linen. ‘Now please go. I want to be on my own.’

‘Why? Going to cry?’

‘No!’ Moomin said, even though he thought he might. Maybe. ‘Just jog on, will you?’

‘Such language!’ Little My squeaks, feigning offence. She slides from the bed, tutting loudly. ‘If that’s the way you talked to Snufkin then no wonder he ran off. You know how sensitive his tiny Mumrik ears are.’

Moomin doesn’t dignify that with a response, waiting until Little My had closed the door behind her before rolling over, looking at his open window.

Moomin thought about the story Papa had told him. Thought about what the flowers might’ve looked like on that island. He also thought about Snufkin, and the colour of his skin and the way his fingers were cold when they’d touched him.

Moomin touches his nose now, thinking about magic and missing.

 _Come back,_ he thinks desperately. _Come back and let me try telling you again._

When Snorkmaiden comes to check on him later, Moomin claims a cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out there's a new Moomin. I watched the new Moomin. Snufkin and Moomin, lads... it's like a selkie love story... only he doesn't have a pelt or anything he's just a hobo with a great call to the WILD


	2. Chapter 2

Four days later, Snufkin has still not reappeared and Moomin’s mood goes the way of an over-ripe apple from the tree.

That is to say- down. Considerably down and leaving a very squishy result.

But Moomin isn’t one to sit around in a poor mood when there are other things to be done. Other things like helping Snorkmaiden collect garlic and carrots, or stacking willow branches with Papa for coiled baskets once dried out. There’s really quite a lot to be doing, with or without Snufkin.

This Moomin keeps reminding himself of; even if the last four mornings have started with looking out his window in a fierce, if trembling hope, that Snufkin might come. And ended, perhaps even more terribly, with looking out that same window and realising he hasn’t.

On the fifth morning, Moomin gets up and does not look out his window. He makes the conscious decision not to and instead heads straight downstairs. The kitchen smells like vanilla and something tart, Little My perched at the end of the table where she sneaks blackberries from a bowl.

Mama stands next to her, rolling out pastry. She smiles at Moomin as he walks in.

‘Good morning,’ she says brightly, sprinkling some flour as she turns the dough she’s rolling. ‘How are you feeling today, dear? Any better?’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ Moomin says, taking the kettle from the stove to make some tea. ‘I think that cold of mine has worn off.’

‘Is that what we’re calling it?’ Little My says around a mouthful of blackberry. Moomin glares at her and Little My smiles wickedly. ‘As opposed to have a good old sulk?’

‘Hush now,’ Mama chides gently but Moomin feels his hackles rise anyway.

‘I wasn’t sulking.'

‘No?’ Little My tosses a blackberry up, catching it in her open mouth. ‘Pining, then. Better?’

‘I have nothing to pine for,’ Moomin says, making a big show of getting his mug down from the press. ‘Nothing at all. I have everything I could possibly need right here. It’s a beautiful day outside, Snorkmaiden and I are thinking of sailing some boats in the stream. We may even invite Sniff over for some games. There isn’t a single thing I could be wanting for.’

‘Not even music for this grand day?’ Little My suggests in a tone of utmost innocence. Moomin fixes his gaze on his mug and not on the kitchen window. It’s on the other side of the house anyway, even if he were to look.

‘You can take the wireless out onto the veranda,’ Mama says, retrieving a pie dish from the counter and lining it with dough. ‘It may not be as lovely as what Snufkin might play, but perhaps he’ll treat you to a song when he gets back.’

‘Hah! If the silly troll deserves anything, I doubt it’s a song!’ Little My says and Moomin nearly scalds himself pouring hot water into his mug. ‘Chased Snufkin out of the valley barely two weeks into Spring, he did!’

‘I did not!’ Moomin says, rounding on Little My and forgetting the tea. ‘Or at least I didn’t mean to…’ Moomin shakes his head, fluffing up suddenly. ‘He’s the one who ran off!’

‘Now, now. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Moomintroll. You know how Snufkin is,’ Mama says patiently, carefully tipping the bowl of surviving blackberries into the pie. ‘A quiet creature. He needs his time away from the noise, every now and then.’

‘And he’s always the one to decide about it,’ Moomin huffs, hearing his own petulance and ignoring the way Little My’s eyes bore into him across the table.

‘Why shouldn’t he get to decide?’ she asks.

‘Well, it’s not just about him, is it?’ Moomin snaps back. ‘It’s me he’s ignoring.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Little My says, actually having the audacity to add a laugh. ‘He’s ignoring all of us. Don’t go feeling special.’

‘Little My, that’s enough now,’ Mama says in that calm way that indicates any further action would lead to a far less calm addition. Little My falls quiet instantly, though she pouts about it.

‘It’s just not fair,’ Moomin continues balefully. ‘He decides he wants to be alone, and then off he goes to be alone. What about me? What if I don’t want to be alone?’

‘I understand, dear,’ says Mama and she starts working on a lattice. ‘But we can’t control things like that in people. Much as we may sometimes want to. It’s not right, you know, to tell someone what they can feel or not and when they can feel it.’

‘But that’s my point!’ Moomin says, getting hot and angry with it all over again and his mother pauses, eyes verdant and sharp. ‘Snufkin decides to be alone and in doing so, he’s deciding to make me miserable. Why can’t I, just once, decide not to be miserable?’

Little My answers: ’Then you might make Snufkin miserable.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Moomin declares, resolute and Little My snorts unpleasantly. ‘You might not believe me. And Snufkin doesn’t seem to believe it either, but it’s true! I’d be sure to make him happy, if he’d only let me try.’

‘I don’t think it quite works like that,’ Little My says but Moomin scoffs. What would Little My know about it one way or another? ‘Not that you didn’t do a bang up job the last time, that is.’

’T-that’s different!’ Moomin stutters, waving a paw. ‘I wasn’t trying then, I was trying-’ Moomin stops himself, tries to change course mid-sentence. ‘Trying something else.’

Mama finishes her lattice, humming softly as she does. ‘I know it’s hard, Moomintroll. But sometimes, even when we love someone, we have to accept that there are things we can’t do for them.’

 _‘Love?!’_ Moomin splutters, jumping in his pelt. He looks around himself, anywhere really that isn’t Little My. ‘Who- who said anything about that? I just meant that Snufkin shouldn’t just up and leave whenever he fancies it!’

‘That is what a Mumrik is won’t to do, Moomintroll.’

‘Not like that! Not leave like _leave,_ just- ah, forget it!’

Moomin turns on his foot and walks out of the kitchen.

He keeps walking, through the house and out the front door. He walks until he finds himself at Snufkin’s empty campsite, walking with purpose until he isn’t. Moomin stops at the flat grass, groaning to himself and kicking a stray tuft.

‘Stupid,’ Moomin huffs to himself. ‘It’s all so stupid. Stupid Little My, stupid Snufkin, stupid-’

‘Stupid what?’

Moomin looks up to see Snorkmaiden walking over, a large basket over her arm with the masts of two small sailboats sticking out of the top of it.

‘Nothing, no one,’ Moomin says but it’s clear Snorkmaiden does not believe him. She eyes him up and down, frown already growing. She looks at the empty campsite and Moomin tries to look relaxed as she does.

‘Still no Snufkin, then?’

‘Guess he’s not finished whatever it is he’s doing.’

‘Not like him though, is it?’ Snorkmaiden says blithely. She walks past, towards the edge of the stream with her basket. ‘He’s stayed by your house the last few years, best I can remember.’

‘Not always,’ Moomin says, embarrassed and not exactly sure why. ‘He wanders off sometimes, you know that.’

‘Yeah, but not far,’ Snorkmaiden says, settling down at the stream. She pats the grass and Moomin joins her, sitting down and helping her take the boats out. ‘And not usually for days. Any longer and it’ll be a week, right?’

‘Don’t know, I’m not counting,’ Moomin lies, trying to focus on tightening the little ropes of his boat.

It’s quiet far too long before Moomin realises. He looks up, fingers tangled in the little rope and Snorkmaiden is looking at him in a way that reminds him vividly of the way Mama gets when Papa decides they should have dinner in the mountains, for _adventure’s_ sake.

‘You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?’ Snorkmaiden asks and the question catches Moomin so by surprise, he nearly snaps the mast of his boat. He gapes his mouth, stomach in knots quite suddenly.

‘Course I would,’ he says weakly but Snorkmaiden doesn’t look convinced.

‘Because you can. Tell me, that is,’ she continues, eyes imploring. ‘I know I get bit huffy about it sometimes, but you can talk to me about Snufkin if you want to.’

‘Talk… about Snufkin?’ Moomin fakes a laugh. ‘Why would I want to talk about Snufkin?’

‘The eternal question,’ Snorkmaiden sighs, seemingly to herself before adding; ‘You’re worried about him. I can tell. And it’s different to normal when he wanders off, worse somehow. I can’t help but think you two might’ve had a tiff to be honest.’

‘Don’t be silly!’ Moomin says but Snorkmaiden’s face only gets darker. ‘We never row. You know that.’

‘Everyone rows sometimes,’ says Snorkmaiden, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. ‘We row all the time.’

Moomin sticks on his words, looking at the stream. ‘Not- not all the time.’

‘Most of it,’ Snorkmaiden says sadly. ‘We even had one over the carrots the other day.’

‘Only a little one, so I don’t know if that counts.’

‘And we had that one before Hibernation as well,’ Snorkmaiden continues like Moomin hasn’t spoken. ‘Do you remember? And all over a sugar bowl. How silly, but it felt so important at the time.’

Moomin watches a fish as it swims up the stream. The current almost looks too strong for the little thing to manage it. He glances over to see the expression of thoughtful sadness on Snorkmaiden’s face.

‘You don’t want to talk about Snufkin, do you?’ Moomin asks and Snorkmaiden starts plucking at the grass.

‘That depends. Do you want to talk about Snufkin?’

‘I’m…’ Moomin swallows around the lump in his throat. ‘I’m not sure I can.’

‘Thought as much,’ Snorkmaiden says and she sounds so very sad now. Moomin isn’t even sure how they got to this in the first place but there’s a sense of surety to it. ‘Do you ever feel stuck, Moomintroll?’

Yes, Moomin thinks. Right now. 

‘Because I feel stuck, my sweet,’ Snorkmaiden says and she’s so quiet now, most unlike herself. ‘I mean, look at me! I’ve been white for so long and do you have any idea how much work that it is?’

‘You don’t have to,’ Moomin says, remembering the faint purple Snorkmaiden had shimmered into that faithful night of the comet all those years ago. ‘White suits you, but if it doesn’t make you happy then you shouldn’t do it.’

‘I thought it might make you happy,’ Snorkmaiden says to that and Moomin feels a terrible shame at hearing it. ‘You’ve always been so proud of how white a Moomin is.’

‘Oh,’ Moomin says and it’s all he’s got, really. Snorkmaiden takes a deep breath, shaking out her fingers. As she does, Moomin can see her cheeks blossom a faint blue colour. It spreads like ink down her face.

‘There,’ Snorkmaiden sighs. She touches her face, the ends of her fingers also blue now. ‘It’s been like holding my breath for years, you know. And I just kept thinking about why I was doing it! I know I’m pretty white, but I could be pretty in every colour and why was I limiting myself? And that’s when I realised something.’

Snorkmaiden looks at Moomin then, eyes bright and Moomin feels a little bolt of panic as he realises it’s tears.

‘I don’t want to be keeping parts of me hidden anymore, Moomintroll,’ she says, reaching over and taking his paw. ‘And I don’t want you to be doing it either.’

‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘There’s a reason we keep rowing,’ Snorkmaiden says, a little firmer. ‘You know it. I know it. And it’s not because we’re not good friends. Because I think we are, actually, all things considered.’

‘Of course we are!’ Moomin says, covering her paw with his other one. He looks down and is nearly distracted by the strangeness of seeing a paw so familiar and yet… not, anymore. ‘Great friends.’

‘But not best,’ Snorkmaiden adds and Moomin wants to deny it, but finds he can’t. ‘You’ve already got one of those. And it’s fine, but even great friends shouldn’t be hiding things just to keep each other happy. It’s not fair, you know.’

Moomin thinks he does but truly can’t think how to say so.

‘So I’ve made a decision about the whole mess,’ Snorkmaiden says and her blue shifts to something a little warmer. More like a sky. ‘And I’ve decided I'm giving that room in Moominhouse back.’

‘No, no! You don’t have to!’

‘I think I do, really,’ Snorkmaiden says with a small smile. ‘It’s a lovely house and you’re a lovely Moomin. But it’s not my house. And you’re not my Moomin.’

At that, Snorkmaiden takes her paw away and starts brushing at the fur of her legs. Moomin sticks to his side, considering everything she’s said and what it all means.  
  
Unbidden, Snufkin comes to mind again and something tugs deep in Moomin like one of his friend’s hooks. He wonders if this is how Snufkin feels; to not be anyone's anything. 

‘Do you still want to sail the boats?’ Moomin asks after a long time of silence. Snorkmaiden laughs, catching Moomin off-guard for a moment.

‘Go on then,’ she says, meeting his eye and something pink tinges through her. ‘We’ve brought them this far.’

‘Yeah,’ Moomin says, offering to tighten the rope of her boat, too. ‘Might as well give them a good send off.’  
  
*/  
  
  
  
  
 _Art by JirsSnufminArchive_ \- [link](https://thefearisoneself.tumblr.com/post/186429543023/i-recently-have-been-reading-swallows-nest-on-ao3)

*/

Snufkin has set up camp by the waterfall.

Outside his tent, he can hear the water as it crashes down. He’d thought of the beach at first, before thinking that Moomintroll would certainly look for him there which would rather defeat the whole purpose. And Snufkin couldn’t face that, he truly couldn’t. Not yet anyway.

If ever.

The rush of the waterfall is the closest he can get to the sound of waves without leaving the valley. And despite the fright in his heart, Snufkin didn’t think he wanted that. He’d considered it that first day, feet pounding along the dirt path of the forest before changing his mind and darting off, forging a new one.  
  
There had been no need for dramatics.

Though Snufkin has been having terrible dreams the last few days. Embarrassing ones, more than anything really, but it always comes back to the same image of walking out of his tent to find cage bars. He rails and batters against them, never giving, only to see Moomintroll on the other side.

What tends to happen next, Snufkin can’t bear thinking of, even awake.

All that considered, imagine the fright he gets stepping out of his tent this morning.

They’re not bars, but Snufkin freezes as looks at the line of large rocks that surround his small campsite. He turns on the spot, following them with his eye to see they are a complete circle. Right around him and his tent. They were not there last night. Snufkin reaches blindly towards his pocket for his knife.

‘Jumpy, aren’t we? And I didn’t even get the sticks in yet!’

Snufkin turns on his boot heel, looks down to where Little My stands. She looks up at him, that general look of mischief on her face. Behind her, Snufkin can see she has collected an impressive array of tall, thin sticks.

‘Hello, little one,’ Snufkin says, suspicious. He tries to relax, but there’s the feeling like a rope going very tight inside of him. He looks at the rocks, at the sticks and back to his unwelcome guest. ‘What are you doing this far from Moominhouse?’

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Little My replies, before turning back to her sticks. She picks one up and totters over to the rocks. Snufkin watches, bemused and uneasy, as she plunges the stick into the soft earth between two stones.

‘I just needed some time to myself,’ Snufkin says quietly, Little My walking over to retrieve another stick. ‘What are the rocks for?’

‘You can’t tell?’ Little My shoves this second stick with less grace. ‘I’m caging you in.’

Snufkin’s throat closes up. ‘But… why?’

‘Isn’t that what you said happens to you?’ Little My asks, taking up another stick. She doesn’t move to add it though, instead standing and looking up at Snufkin with a peculiar expression. A very Mymble one, Snufkin thinks. ‘You told me once you feel caged in sometimes. And that you need your space. So I’m simply helping you out.’

Little My gestures around her with the stick to the rocks.

‘Behold! Your space! New and mapped out, just for you. Good, right?’

Something seizes inside of Snufkin and he crumples inward, shoulders rising and stomach hunched. It’s a daft thing and on any other day, it really wouldn’t matter as Snufkin has been caught in traps a little more advanced than a Mymble armed with pebbles and sticks.

But it’s not any other day and Snufkin’s nightmare rattles around his head like a stone in his boot. He had dreamt of a cage and now here one springs up around him.

‘It’s not a good thing,’ Snufkin mutters and Little My tilts her head dramatically.

‘Sorry, I can’t hear you!’

‘I said it’s not a good thing!’ Snufkin snaps, before feeling his face bloom hot.

He looks away, embarrassed by his outburst. He wants to get back into his tent, fingers twitching for something to distract himself. But she’d still be here, and so would her rocks, and her sticks and oh Groke, is she going to keep adding them? Will she really cage him in? He could of course just break the sticks but-

Snufkin jumps when he feels a sharp poke in his side. Little My has prodded him with her stick.

‘So you don’t want your own space?’

‘This… this isn’t really what I meant,’ Snufkin says and Little My doesn’t answer at first. Instead, she walks over to her little wall of rocks and drops her stick.

‘What did you mean then?’

‘It’s…’ Impossible to say, Snufkin finds. Moomintroll never asks him that. Little My taps a small foot impatiently. Snufkin’s face is flushed and he bends his head, tries to hide it. ‘Hardly matters. You know perfectly well that it is not what was thought nor that this is what I want.’

‘How can you expect anyone to perfectly understand anything if you never say until it’s too late?’ Little My says plainly and Snufkin doesn’t have an answer for that.

With two hands, Little My pries one of the rocks up and throws it. It doesn’t go far and makes a horribly dense noise where it lands. Snufkin looks at it from under his brim, scolding himself for the relief he suddenly feels now that the little ring is broken. How daft, he is.

‘Now look. All my hard work was for nothing.’ Little My huffs and Snufkin keeps his head down, wonders if he might go fetch his pipe for something to do. ‘If you’d told me what you’d wanted clearly, think of all the time saved and grief not had.’

Snufkin glances up to see Little My is watching him very closely and his cheeks keep burning.

‘Well, now I’ve said,’ Snufkin says, before turning his back to the Mymble and looking at his tent. Perhaps it’s time to move along again. Somewhere quieter, further past the meadow.

‘What good is it now?’ Little My replies, following after him to where Snufkin crawls into his tent, starting to roll up his blankets. She waits outside, having at least the standard to not enter where she hasn’t been invited, it seems.

‘Better to have said it, even in the end.’

‘Better to have said it before someone else makes up their mind about what you mean in the first place,’ Little My adds as Snufkin starts to pack. ‘You’ve missed some mighty gossip back at the house you know.’

‘I don’t care for gossip.’

‘You might care for this gossip. Snorkmaiden’s leaving; going back to her brother’s workshop, I heard.’

Snufkin drops what he’s holding.

‘The workshop? Is Moomintroll going with her?’ he asks, poking his head out of his tent. Little My makes a big show of inspecting her nails.

‘I doubt it, as taking him with her would rather defeat the point of leaving him.’

Snufkin frowns and he holds to the flaps of his tent very tightly, the zipper sticking in his palm. ‘Leaving him?’

‘What are you? Like one of those Southern parrots that only knows how to repeat back?’ Little My snaps, picking at some dirt under her nails. ‘This is what you get for running off into the woods before anything exciting happens. It’s the talk of the valley, you know. Or you would if you weren’t hiding out here. The Great Uncoupling, they’re calling it.’

When Snufkin wants to check if his pan is hot enough, he’ll flick a little bit of water into it where it’ll burst and scatter. Right now, something deep in Snufkin’s chest feels like that scalding skillet and he touches himself there, pushing tightly like he might burn himself with it. Little My looks at him, but Snufkin doesn’t notice as his eye wanders to the waterfall.

‘Poor Moomintroll,’ he says softly. ‘That is some sad news.’

‘Is it?’ Little My says slowly. ‘Interesting for you to say so. I thought you’d be pleased to hear of an entanglement coming undone. If you consider coupling that kind of thing, that is.’

Snufkin ignores her and returns back into his tent, taking up his belongings and continuing to pack up again.

Truth be told, Snufkin isn’t sure if it is sad or not. He doesn’t feel much of anything about it, except for that hot, hot feeling in his chest. It’s something almost like when Snufkin finds himself walking along the far peninsula, the swooping sensation of being so close to the fall. The deep unknown.

Which, he supposes, this is. Almost as long as he’s known him, Snufkin has known a few things for certain about Moomintroll. Marrying Snorkmaiden had been one of those things until right this very moment. Now, everything seems very unsure and Snufkin feels an itch in his heart to see for himself.

‘Heading off again, are we?’ Little My asks as Snufkin leaves the tent with his pack. Snufkin starts to tug up the pins for his tent, his back to her. ‘Where to now? Some other miserably wet place? Why not just settle on a lilypad like a frog, at this rate.’

‘I’m going to Moominhouse,’ Snufkin says, the tarpaulin going loose and the tent poles dipping in like divining rods.

‘What a surprise.’

Snufkin looks over his shoulder to where Little My starts to walk away, back towards the uneven path. She waves as she goes, little sharp teeth showing.

‘Careful of your space, Snufkin,’ she says as she goes. ‘Don’t want to get stuck, right?’

It takes a little over an hour for Snufkin to make his way back to the main path of the forest, another again to reach the stream at Moominhouse. He rests his pack against the mailbox, fishing rod in hand. He looks at the house, but there’s no sign of anyone. From here, Snufkin can just about see that Moomintroll’s curtains are drawn.

Snufkin settles himself on the bridge, casting a long line into the stream. It bobs with the current, slipping past the reeds. He feels the tension ease, the sound of the water beneath him steadying the flittering heartbeat of his chest. He’s not even sure how long it’s been, content to let the bait float and the time pass until-

‘Snufkin?’

Snufkin looks up, watching as Moomintroll walks towards him from the forest path. Moomintroll walks as far as the end of the bridge, where he abruptly stops. He looks at Snufkin’s face, his rod and back again. Snufkin holds a hand up in a small wave, which Moomintroll returns though slower.'

‘Moomintroll,’ Snufkin replies, looking back to the stream. ‘Where were you off to this lovely day?’

‘I was helping Sniff with- oh, you know what. It doesn’t matter,’ Moomintroll replies but he doesn’t come any closer.

‘Is Sniff far behind?’

‘No, I gave up and left him at the thicket.’

‘Good,’ Snufkin says, pushing his hat back so to look at Moomintroll more clearly. ‘I’d hate for him to scare the fish. Care to join me?’

Moomintroll has a very odd look on his face. ‘Won’t I scare the fish, too?’

‘Not if you sit here by me.’

‘Would you like me to?’

‘I’ve asked you, haven’t I?’

Moomintroll doesn’t answer that, but he does step onto the bridge. Snufkin has never been more aware of him and it feels like a fine film on his skin, like when he walks through mist in low mountains that’s not quite rain. Moomintroll sits down next to him, white feet swinging and Snufkin pretends to adjust the reel of his rod.

‘When did you get back?’

‘I didn’t really go anywhere,’ Snufkin answers, pinching a small screw that really isn’t all that loose and trying to turn it anyway. ‘Just up by the waterfall. There’s good fish there, you know.’

‘Right,’ Moomintroll says and is it always this terribly awkward when Snufkin comes back from someplace? It never felt so before. ‘I wasn’t sure when you’d come back. If you’d come back.’

‘I always come back,’ Snufkin says, bumping his shoulder to Moomintroll's. ‘I just needed some time.’

Moomintroll doesn’t ask for an apology and Snufkin doesn’t offer one either. He never does but for some reason, Snufkin feels an expectation he doesn’t usually for it. He clears his throat, mind skipping like a stone as he tries to think of something to say. Normally, Snufkin is quite happy to say nothing.

Now, however, something simmers on the tip of Snufkin’s tongue. Which means there’s all the more reason not to say it. Snufkin never trusts a word he can’t keep in.

‘I’m sorry,’ Moomintroll says eventually, as something tugs on Snufkin’s line. ‘About the other night. You know. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

They’re stepping dangerously close to what Snufkin had wanted to avoid in the first place, so he focuses on his fishing. ‘Water under the bridge.’

Moomintroll looks over his knees, into the stream with a frown.

‘Well, yes? What else would be there?’

‘Never mind,’ Snufkin sighs, giving a sharp tug. A silver fish splashes at the other end of the line and Snufkin starts to reel. ‘I told you. I went to fish.’

‘That's all?’

The little fire in his chest burns too bright and Snufkin takes a deep breath.

‘That’s all.’

The fish splatters both of them with water as it flaps on the hook. He can feel Moomintroll’s eyes on him, feels it like a touch and warmth floods through him. Despite the very cold fish.

Which suddenly slips right off Snufkin’s hook, crashing back into the stream and slipping away with the current. Snufkin is so surprised, his hands are still frozen where he’d had them.

‘Oh.’ Snufkin finishes reeling the line in, inspecting the hook for damage but there’s nothing. ‘I guess it wasn’t to be.’

‘Suppose you’ll have to try again,’ Moomintroll says, reaching over for the lure. He taps the end of the hook with the tip of his paw. ‘Got any more bait?’

‘Only a sliver left.’ Snufkin reaches into his pocket for it. ‘Little My came to see me this morning.’

‘You told Little My where you were?’ Moomintroll says, clearly displeased.

‘Of course not. But for someone so little, she is quite capable of something once she puts her mind to it. I guess it was her mind to find me.’

‘What did she want?’ Moomintroll asks as Snufkin starts to bait his hook.

‘Trouble, naturally.’

Moomintroll blinks, eyes so very blue in this moment and Snufkin goes back to his hook. ‘She told you, didn’t she? That’s why you came back.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I went to fish. I came back to fish.’

‘Come off it,’ Moomintroll says, his ears flicking. ‘She told you Snorkmaiden left and you’ve come to check up on me.’

Snufkin chooses his next words very carefully.

‘She told me there was fish. And that there might be a Moomin in need of some.’

‘She did in her left foot,’ Moomintroll says but he’s smiling, Snufkin can tell. Just from the cadence of his voice and how lovely it now is. ‘I don’t know why you have such a soft spot for her. She’s a torment.’

‘We all have our talents,’ Snufkin says and he’s smiling, too, though trying very hard not to. Moomintroll laughs and the hard work is undone in a moment. Snufkin gestures to the rod before getting ready to cast his line again. ‘If only mine might come back to me, we could have some of this fish I’ve promised.’

‘You didn’t actually promise,’ Moomintroll teases, shoulders bumping again and this time, he stays. He’s warm like feeling the sun on one's face. ‘Why not trying naming the bait this time?’

‘Naming it?’ Snufkin asks and when he looks, Moomintroll’s cheeks have fluffed up. He’s blushing, underneath all that fur and the knowledge of it ripples in Snufkin down to his boots.

‘Something Papa used to do,’ Moomintroll says, leaning over and tapping Snufkin’s rod. ‘The way it works is you need to name the bait after someone you cherish’

‘Is this a spell?’ Snufkin suggests with a smile, offering the small apology he’s capable of. Moomintroll’s ears twitch again, so close they nearly brush off Snufkin’s hat.

‘If it is, it’s a very tiny one so I don’t think it counts proper,’ Moomintroll says and he leans back again, leaving Snufkin’s shoulder cold. ‘The way it works is if the person cherishes you, you’ll catch the fish.’

‘I don’t know if that’ll work,’ Snufkin chuckles. 

‘Try it,’ Moomintroll insists gently and Snufkin’s laugh trembles at the end, almost sadly. Moomintroll shrugs his wide shoulders. ‘Can’t hurt.’

Snufkin looks at the bait and thinks for a moment. It’s a soft, curling moment that gets caught at the edges of the fire inside and Snufkin lets his breath out. He casts the line out, further this time and it vanishes beneath the water.

Moomintroll has his eye fixed on it, paws over the edge of the bridge as he holds himself there and Snufkin looks at him. Not the stream, or the rod or even the green, green trees behind. He only looks at Moomintroll and feels well for it.

‘Who’d you name it after?’ Moomintroll asks and Snufkin aches. He aches in his bones with an old wound.

‘Someone cherished,’ he answers, heart brimming.

It doesn’t take long to catch another fish. When Moomintroll takes it from the hook for him, Snufkin can hear something turn inside of himself. It’s a gear- a great, creaking wheel that rolls like a clock and Snufkin knows, with certainty, that something is now very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snorkmaiden doesn't change colours in _Moominvalley_ but she _should_ because she _deserves_ it.
> 
> p.s - fishing superstition shamelessly stolen from _Hannibal_
> 
> ... now there's a crosover


	3. Chapter 3

‘Moomintroll, careful!’

Too late. Moomin looks up just in time for the basket to tip over. Mushrooms tumble out, bopping off his head and scattering all over the kitchen. Mama makes a sad little sigh which speaks of a thousand disappointments as Little My erupts into a fierce cackle.

‘Sorry, Mama.’ Moomin looks around the mess. ‘Why were they even up here? I thought this is where the coffee’s kept.’

‘Coffee is in the corner cabinet now,’ Mama says gently, taking a mushroom from the counter before it rolls off to join its fallen friends. ‘Acquiring a taste for it at last, dear?’

‘It’s for-’

‘Snufkin, right?’ Little My interrupts, kicking a mushroom like a football. ‘Has he actually got you running around making him coffee now? Why not just carry you in his pocket and be done with it?’

Moomin flicks his ears. ‘What’s the supposed to mean?’

‘Well, it’s like all the best toys, isn’t it?’ Little My replies with a vicious smile. ‘You have to put them away somewhere when you’re done with them, but always in arm’s reach.’

‘Little My, please,’ Mama says sternly as she collects the mushrooms. ‘That isn’t a very nice thing to say.’

‘Most things that are true aren’t nice!’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Mama chides gently, depositing the mushrooms in their basket. She walks over to the corner cabinet, reaching in for the coffee. ‘Sometimes the nicest thing we can be told is the truth. Right, Moomintroll, dear?’

Moomin isn’t listening as well as he should, busy as he is staring Little My down like the wretched creature she is. He takes the coffee tin gratefully from where Mama hands it over. ‘Right. Yeah. Thanks, Mama. How much can I take?’

‘As much as Snufkin likes,’ Mama says and Moomin goes to leave, but Mama’s paw comes down on his shoulder to stop him. ‘Now, now, dear, don’t be rushing. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

‘I said I’d get this to Snufkin before he left for the lake. He’s gathering rushes and-' 

‘It’ll only take a moment,’ Mama says patiently. ‘And better to tell you now so you might say it to Snufkin when you see him. I’ll be starting preparations for Bealtaine soon and I could really use the help of a young, strapping Moomin.’

‘Bealtaine?’ Moomin repeats, puzzled. ‘Doesn’t Mrs Fillyjonk host that?' 

‘Quite. But this year she has requested to be relieved of her duties and we can’t have the valley without some May-time festivities,’ Mama replies, returning to the cabinet to retrieve a small jar. A small frown creeps onto her face. ‘Especially if the only reason we may not have it is because someone’s hyacinths didn’t produce a suitable shade of pink. Goodness, of all things to be upset about.’

‘But what about Midsummer?'

‘We’ll have that, too.’ 

‘We will be hosting Kekri as well, inviting the whole valley to join us in our beds for Hibernation?’ Little My says rudely and despite himself, Moomin agrees with the sentiment. Midsummer is already the biggest party of the year, seems like an awful trouble to do it twice over by adding Bealtaine to it.

‘Would you rather have no May party at all?’ Mama says and Little My looks like she might say _Yes,_ before Mama continues to Moomin; ‘I don’t want to bale the hay too early, so we might need to improvise for seating at this one. I’m thinking logs, which we will need to find. There’s bound to have been storms during the Winter, some poor tree falling over with all that snow. It really would be very helpful for you to go and scout some. Better again to take Snufkin with you, he has good knowledge for such things.’

Mama pushes the jar into Moomin’s other paw.

‘And here’s some nice cocoa to sweeten him up with,’ she says brightly, before patting Moomin on his head. ‘Not that he needs it much, when it’ll be coming from you.’

Moomin flushes, the fluff of cheeks all standing on end as the blood rushes there. He simply nods before heading out and once outside, he holds the tin of coffee to one cheek and the jar of cocoa to the other in the hopes he might cool down.

Silly thing. Silly troll. He’s never been bothered by comments like that before. 

‘What are you doing?’

Moomin yelps, nearly dropping both coffee and cocoa as he looks down to see Little My in front of him, appeared as though by some terrible magic. ‘Great Hemulen snout! How did you get here?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ Little My says, holding a hand out. ‘Want me to carry one of those for you?’

‘Not if I actually want Snufkin to get them, no,’ Moomin says, stepping around her and continuing down towards the stream.

‘Oh ye of little faith. I’m coming with you to go find logs.’

‘Why?’ Moomin says, genuinely surprised. ‘Isn’t this too practical and too helpful a job for you to be interested?’

‘I’m looking for something,’ Little My says mysteriously, green eyes out on Snufkin’s tent across the bridge. ‘I think I have better chance of spotting it if I have you with me.’ 

‘If you need help with something you can always ask me, you know,’ Moomin tells her genuinely and Little My looks at him, askance. ‘What are you looking for?’

Little My smiles and Moomin knows instantly that whatever it is, it likely spells trouble. ‘An answer to a question. Don’t you worry, Moomintroll, you’re all the help I need just being what you are.'

That seems a strangely kind thing for Little My to say, but Moomin doesn’t get the chance to question as by this time, they’ve reached the end of the bridge. Across it, Moomin hears the ripping noise of Snufkin’s tent opening. When he looks, Snufkin is coming out with his hat in his hand. Snufkin waves it over his head as they approach.

‘Good morning!’ Snufkin walks over to meet Moomin half-way across the bridge, looking down as Little My looks up; ‘And you, too, little Mymble.’

‘Good already, is it?’ Little My says and Snufkin blinks. Moomin pushes her with his foot.

‘I got the coffee for you,’ Moomin says, holding over said coffee. Snufkin takes it with a small frown.

‘This is far too much, your parents will be going without.’

‘Don’t be too impressed with the generosity yet,’ Moomin says, shaking the jar of cocoa. ‘This is for you as well. My mother has a job for us.’

‘Oh? I’m intrigued.’ Snufkin takes the jar as well, and his fingers slip against Moomin’s paw. They’re cold- they always are and Moomin can still feel the tingle after they’ve gone. 

Moomin explains the whole manner of the impending Bealtaine celebrations, himself and Little My following Snufkin as he retreats to the tent to store the coffee and cocoa. Snufkin reemerges with a small ball of red twine.

‘We can use this to tag logs we find suitable,’ Snufkin says, gathering his smock up to hook the twine somewhere.

Little My kicks a stray pebble. ’Aren’t you going to find rushes or something?’

‘That can wait. I’ll help Moomintroll first.’

Moomin finds himself staring, completely caught up in the novelty of it as he sees the slim line of Snufkin’s waist revealed. His shirt isn’t tucked very well, even the clips of his suspenders look crooked and Moomin cannot. Stop. Looking. 

As close as they are, Moomin really sees so very little of his friend like this and there’s something appealing to look, something like the way hot butter spreads on toast and Moomin swallows around the strange feeling in his throat. Tries to ignore the corkscrew turn in his tummy.

Is Snufkin always so very thin underneath? So very… un-Moominlike, really. That smock is so deceptive, making Snufkin look far more solid than he evidently is. Moomin thinks he could wrap one arm around Snufkin like a belt, if he wants to. Not that he does! Want to, exactly… well…

‘Moomintroll?’

‘He’s not listening. Let me try.’

Moomin is brought most rudely back down to earth by a sudden cloud of thick, grey ash which puffs up around him. Moomin splutters and coughs, waving a paw frantically to disperse the thick plume as Little My cackles from somewhere. 

‘Oh,’ Snufkin sounds very disappointed as Moomin looks down at himself. He’s destroyed in the ashes and Little My looks pretty pleased with herself down by his knees. ‘I was going to use that to make lye, you know.’ 

‘Just buy a soap, you tramp,’ Little My says, putting down the bucket Snufkin had evidently been keeping his fire ashes in. ‘This was a much better use of it.’

Moomin coughs up more ash. He throws My a look, hating her. ’You impish, rotten-’

‘Oh, wind your neck in!’ Little My says, completely unrepentant. ‘Not my fault you were too busy eating the eye candy to pay attention.’

Moomin chokes. There’s no other word really for the tight, gasping snort of a noise that gets stuck in his throat as he fails miserably to think of something to say to that. He doesn’t look at Snufkin, doesn’t dare even try it. Instead, Moomin focuses on brushing the ash off himself like that might inspire even a shred of dignity.

The three of them set off, Snufkin leading the way with great composure and Moomin walks behind, hoping some of it might rub off on him. He’s quiet and happy listening as Snufkin speaks soft and steady about a cluster of trees he’s sure were felled during the Winter storms further up-river- but Moomin can’t help but feel Little My’s eyes burning into his back the whole way.

Whatever she’s looking for, Moomin is beginning to suspect his involvement is a lot less benevolent than first thought.

‘… the yew tree probably has the thickest of the lot, we should start with that one,’ Snufkin says as he pushes through the thick shrubbery, closer down to the river bank where there's space to walk. It’s all stones, this far up towards the start of the mountain and Moomin watches with admiration as Snufkin hops from one to the other.

‘Yip, yip!’ he cries after him and Moomin feels the excitement swell inside like a tide. He sighs audibly with it. 

‘Do you have any idea how embarrassing you look?’

‘Well, it’s not my fault I’m walking around covered in Snufkin’s ashes, now is it?’ Moomin says to Little My’s comment as he clambers up on a rock. Once there, he holds a paw out to help her up after him. She uses his elbow as a step ladder, settling on his shoulder.

‘You’d be happy covered in anything if it came from Snufkin, I’d bet,’ Little My says and Moomin tries very hard to focus on Snufkin’s retreating back as he skips further upstream.

The river is rushing next to them, so much faster up here and Moomin can’t hear a word Snufkin is saying, up a few rocks ahead. He knows Snufkin is saying something, he keeps looking over his shoulder to do so, but Moomin can barely hear Little My complaining next to him. Which is really something. 

‘I hope he’s being careful,’ Moomin says as Snufkin jumps again. Little My tugs on one of his ears as Moomin struggles to balance on the slick edge of his rock. ‘Theses things are frightfully slippy.' 

‘I’d say he knows more about this than you do,’ Little My says but Moomin isn’t comforted. He should be watching his own feet, but he’s too busy tracking Snufkin as he goes on ahead. ‘He’d want to anyway. Everyone knows Mumriks can’t swim.’

Moomin stops in his tracks, a distant memory coming to him. Little My teeters, pulling on his ear too tight. ‘Mumriks can’t swim…’

‘That’s what I said-’

Suddenly, Snufkin really does seem too far away.

‘Snufkin!’ Moomin calls, going a little faster now. Probably too fast for the danger that’s in it, but- ‘Snufkin, wait!’ 

Snufkin stops two or three rocks ahead, turning with one hand on his hat to stop it blowing off with the rush of the river. He’s looking at Moomin curiously, his little mouth slightly open and Moomin wonders what he’s saying, he can’t quite hear over the noise. Then Snufkin bends down, jumping back towards Moomin.

Moomin knows what’s going to happen before it does. It’s the way Snufkin’s knee buckles as he teeters, near the edge and Moomin looks down at where the river is violently foaming and Little My is blithering on in his ear when-

Moomin slips and the whole world goes out from under him. 

He manages to toss Little My in the direction of safety as he goes, listening to her high pitched squeal of indignant shock fly over him like a whistle. Both paws slap on the edge of the rock as Moomin’s legs go down from one wrong step on the slick moss of the rock, just stopping him from falling into the river entirely.

But the water is breath-stoppingly cold where it hits him and Moomin starts, paws up for just a moment but it’s enough to slip further. The current is very strong at his feet, but Moomin is stronger. He digs his claws into the rock, through the moss and starts to pull. 

He’s almost there, looking up just in time to see Snufkin land on the rock in a wild, uncoordinated movement. ‘Snufkin!’

‘Moomintroll!’ Snufkin says but he jumped too quick, landed too fast and his whole body slides on the slick surface. 

Moomin watches in horror as Snufkin flies right past him, feet first towards the river. Moomin throws his arm out in a burst of absolute, teeth-cracking panic as he desperately tries to catch him. 

His arm hits Snufkin in the stomach like a firm branch. Snufkin gasps loud as he does, the force so hard Moomin’s arm nearly buckles from it, but he holds. For a second, time seems to stop and all Moomin can feel is the swell of Snufkin’s ribcage against his arm. Then with immense effort, the kind that pulls all the way to the back of Moomin’s legs as he forces his toes against the rock for momentum, Moomin pulls Snufkin to him.

Moomin hauls them both up, tucking his arm in so he pulls Snufkin right up against him as he does. Snufkin seems limp and Moomin is worried he’s fainted, or something of the like, from the whole commotion but he can’t risk looking until they’re both safe from the edge. He manages to get both feet up, pushing with all his strength forward. He keeps going until he’s right up against the bank, knotted tree roots sticking out from the earth like little lifelines.

Moomin stands straight, looking up at the filtered sunlight through the leaves and breathing so hard his whole body is shaking. His arm is still around Snufkin’s waist, having pulled him around in the movement so Snufkin’s back is to Moomin’s chest. His hat is off somewhere and Moomin really hopes it didn’t fall in the river, because that means he’ll have to go back in and get the sodding thing. 

The image of Snufkin’s hat floating away turns Moomin’s insides cold as he thinks about what could’ve happened. 

Moomin turns Snufkin like top, Snufkin spinning on his toes until they’re face to face. Moomin keeps his arm where it is, the other going without thinking to take his chin, turning Snufkin's face one way or the other as Snufkin makes a garbled, high pitched noise rather like when a mouse get its tail stepped on. 

‘Are you okay? You’re not hurt, right?’ Moomin asks, looking for any signs of damage but Snufkin only appears to be flushed all over from the commotion. With auburn hair, it clashes glaringly and it distracts Moomin for a moment.

Snufkin stares right back, taking hiccupping little breaths. 

‘N-no,’ Snufkin mutters, two hands on Moomin’s chest and he looks down as though just realising. He goes to step back, but Moomin holds tighter, not quite satisfied the danger has passed. ‘Not hurt.’

‘Good, good,’ Moomin says, the relief so heavy it nearly crushes him all of a sudden. ‘For a moment, I thought…’

Moomin trails off, unwilling to even think of it and Snufkin’s hands twitch. Moomin can feel them brush through his coat and he’s never been so glad to have Snufkin this close. 

Snufkin smiles uneasily; ‘Don’t worry. All right, now.’

Moomin doesn’t know where the anger comes from, but it comes _fast_ and it comes _hot._ ‘What did you think you were doing?!’

‘Saving you?’ Snufkin suggests blankly and Moomin has half a mind the throttle him by the knitted scarf.

‘Save me? Me? I’m fine!’ Moomin snaps, tightening his grip around Snufkin’s waist and pressing them, if possible, even closer together. ‘I fall into the river, you know what I do? I swim, because Moomins can swim. Pretty darn good at it. What would you have done, Snufkin?’

‘Well…’ Snufkin says, eyes looking away and his cheeks go bright red.

‘You could’ve drowned!’ Moomin says, the fright of even saying such a thing making him too loud going by the way Snufkin flinches. ‘That was so careless!’

‘Well then,’ Snufkin says, meeting Moomin’s eye and puffing his chest. They’re so close, Moomin can feel it against his own. ‘Next time I won’t bother at all and let you fall into the river, to be carried off to who knows where. Would that be better?’

‘Yes! If it means you stay safe!’ Moomin retorts and Snufkin’s petulant little frown suddenly melts. Moomin presses his paws in, feels the fabric of Snufkin’s smock bunch between his fingers. ‘What if I’d lost you?’

Snufkin goes stiff as a board in Moomin’s arms, a small fist caught up in some fur at Moomin’s chest. They’re all tangled up and Moomin’s heart goes full throttle, all of a sudden. Moomin’s almost afraid it’ll burst right out of him. He’s gone and said too much.

‘I…’ Snufkin doesn’t seem to have anything to say, but Moomin wishes he did because Moomin can’t read a single expression on Snufkin’s face. His brown eyes are wide and wild looking, flittering nervously all over Moomin’s face and his little mouth, (really, so very little), is opening and closing like a fish.

‘Just...’ Moomin starts, stuttering a little and he’s holding Snufkin too tight, he knows he is but Moomin doesn’t let go. ‘Just don’t do that again, alright?’

Snufkin still doesn’t say anything but the way he’s looking at Moomin right now is so strange. It’s the sort of look Moomin thinks he may have dreamt of, once or twice. A sad, wounded sort of thing and Moomin wants to remember why he thinks he’s dreamed it before, why it settles somewhere warm inside of him despite how sad Snufkin looks when-

‘Oi! You two alright or what?!’ Little My shrieks from where she’s somehow perched herself on a knobbled root. Snufkin jumps back to life in Moomin’s arms and Moomin makes up his mind about something.

‘Right,’ Moomin says, finally letting Snufkin go. Snufkin staggers a little, apparently leaning on Moomin more than first thought but he doesn’t have much of a chance to get his footing as Moomin is already pawing at him.  
  
Snufkin shrieks, both hands coming down like a vice as Moomin tries to hitch his smock up. 

_‘What are you doing?’_ Snufkin hisses, his voice taking that squeaky lilt he gets when really worked up. Moomin is unsympathetic- the daft sod deserves at least a little bit of it. 

Moomin gets the smock up just enough to spot the twine where it’s hanging off Snufkin’s suspender clip. Moomin snatches it and steps away, Snufkin furiously swatting at him. Snufkin starts trying to put right to himself as Little My sounds on the edge of a conniption with the hysterics roaring through her. Moomin ignores both to get some twine undone.

‘I-I mean! _Really!_ Moomintroll!’ Snufkin is quite in a tizzy now it appears. ‘That was completely uncalled for!’

Only Snufkin would be more upset about his delicate composure being affected than potential drowning. Affection and frustration tumble over that fact, making Moomin feel like his insides are doing somersaults. He doesn’t say anything, not quite trusting himself until he’s calmed down and instead focuses on making a small loop. 

Snufkin is still wittering away, hands on his hips in a manner most put-out. Moomin keeps his snout down, trying to hide the way he smiles at how serious Snufkin looks about the whole thing. Moomin walks over as Snufkin keeps giving out, who despite this does not stop or notice as Moomin takes one of his hands from his waist. In fact, Snufkin doesn’t stop any of it until Moomin tugs on the twine and the loop closes around Snufkin’s narrow wrist. 

‘And if you think- what have you done?’ Snufkin asks, interrupting himself. Moomin steps back, proud. Snufkin follows the line of the twine back, watching as Moomin unwinds a long enough length of it before taking it up to his teeth to bite through. ‘Moomintroll?’

‘Now,’ Moomin says, tying the other end of the line he’s cut around his own wrist. He holds his wrist aloft and Snufkin looks between Moomin’s wrist and his own with a funny look on his face. ‘This way, neither of us can wander too far. We can take it off once we’re up further, but at least this way there’s no worry about losing the other in the river.’

‘By the Groke’s great, frozen nose,’ Little My says, her laughing dying off so suddenly she’s rather like a balloon that’s popped. ‘You’ve actually tied him to you. With a nice red ribbon-' 

‘It’s twine,’ Moomin says but it falls on deaf ears. 

‘- it’s practically a handfasting!’ Little My continues and Moomin turns so warm, so quickly, all his fur stands on end which only serves to further delight Little My as she points at him with a wild cackle. ‘People normally ask about this sort of thing, you know! Were you just that impatient you decided to skip the engagement part?’

‘Stuff it, will you!’ Moomin snaps, palling with instant regret. Little My keeps laughing and Snufkin is looking at the twine, a strange look on his face. 

‘Congratulations! Really, so happy for you both,’ Little My says and Moomin heads over, fully intent on tossing the Mymble into the nearby nettles. It’s the least of what she deserves, but as he goes past a hand comes down on his shoulder.

‘She’ll outrun you before you even get close,’ Snufkin says and not for the first time, Moomin wonders if Snufkin can somehow read his mind. Not a comforting thought and Moomin tries desperately to get his fluff down. Snufkin touches the twine on his wrist; ‘It’s a clever idea, Moomintroll.’

‘Really?’ Moomin says, surprised. Snufkin nods quietly, eyes going out towards the river. 

‘I suppose I really was getting ahead of myself. I should’ve waited for you, we could’ve helped each other out.’

‘We can do that now,’ Moomin says, feeling better already. Snufkin smiles at him, reaching up to adjust the hat that isn’t there. Moomin goes to walk away; ‘Hang on, I think saw your hat down between the rocks. I can reach it, wait here!’

Moomin heads over to towards the rocks at the edge, the twine he’s allowed himself more than sufficient. As he’s bending down, Little My comes close to where Snufkin is watching Moomin the way he always does when he knows Moomin can’t see him. 

‘Well, that answers that,’ she says and Snufkin touches the twine around his wrist.

‘Answers what?’

‘Don’t look so put out,’ Little My replies instead of answering, elbowing as far up Snufkin’s leg as she can reach. She points at the twine. ‘You wouldn’t like the real thing anyway. Far too permanent for someone like you, right?’

Snufkin doesn’t answer. Moomin, over the water and noise it makes against the rocks, doesn’t hear a word of any of it.   
  
  
*/

  
  
  
_Art by JirsSnufminArchive_ \- [link](https://thefearisoneself.tumblr.com/post/186944708683/from-chapter-3-of-boorishbints-wonderful-story)

  
*/

They manage to settle on six suitable logs from the collection of trees Snufkin brought them to.  
  
Moomin will return with Papa tomorrow and an axe, and maybe their nearest Hemulen neighbour will lend them her mule and cart to help move them. Most of the twine that binds him and Snufkin together is now stuffed into the pocket of Snufkin’s smock to stop it trailing as they walk close together on their way back. They didn’t undo it at the top of the path.

Moominhouse looms between the trees and Little My sighs happily, saying she’s craving a bath after spending the day trucking through mountain mud. She runs on ahead, her little bun bobbing after her as it’s gone loose from a day’s work.

Moomin stops to watch her go, lingering where the woods thin before the stream. The twine snags in Snufkin’s pocket and he turns, looking at Moomin from beneath his hat.

‘Moomintroll?’

‘Better undo this,’ Moomin says, holding up his wrist.

Snufkin walks over, closer than normal and Moomin is thrown vividly back to that afternoon. They’re not that close right now, but Moomin remembers so clearly how it felt to have his arm around Snufkin’s waist and it's suddenly all he can think abiut.

‘Suppose we’d better. Can’t be taking me with you everywhere.’

Something snags in Moomin’s thoughts then but he pushes it down as quickly as it comes. Doesn’t do, to be dwelling on things like that. Especially with one’s best-friend. There’s a certain trust not to do that, some might say. 

‘You don’t want me coming either,’ Moomin says and it comes out far more pathetic than the joke he’d intended it to be. He winces at himself as Snufkin blinks owlishly at him. ‘I’ll snap mine first, hang on-‘

Moomin holds his wrist up and nibbles through the twine there, letting it fall limp to the forest floor. He holds a paw out to Snufkin, who looks down at it for a very long, slow moment. Then he reaches back, holding his wrist out with it turned up. Moomin takes it with both paws, breath coming too quick so he’s feels light inside. 

‘I’m sorry, you know,’ Moomin says quietly, his thumb straying. It moves over the curve of Snufkin’s wrist, landing over the small divot in Snufkin’s hand where Moomin can feel his pulse. Moomin wonders if a Mumrik’s heart is very different to a Moomin one. If maybe they beat backwards, and that’s why Snufkin is always so-

‘What are you sorry for?’

‘For shouting at you. For getting angry. It wasn’t good of me, to do that.’

‘I scared you,’ Snufkin says gently, seemingly happy to let Moomin do what he likes. Moomin tests the unknown waters, pushing his thumb up. It slips underneath the cuff of Snufkin’s sleeve. ‘Wasn’t good of me either.’

‘Guess we’re both terrible.’

‘I guess so, but at least we have good company.’

Moomin notices every day the way Snufkin smells. Today it smells like _more_ somehow and Moomin wonders how he’s never noticed before. He can’t look away at his white finger, stark against the sun-bronzed colour of Snufkin’s skin. He can smell pipeweed and stale tarpaulin, sweat from a long day. It’s so heady in this moment that Moomin thinks he can almost taste it. 

‘Moomintroll?’ Snufkin asks and Moomin looks up, caught out he feels. Snufkin has that funny look on his face again. Sad but not quite. Close, but not close enough. ‘Am I free?’ 

It takes Moomin too long to realise what he means, before; ‘Oh! Right, course. Sorry.’

The moment, whatever it was, is over.  
  
Moomin lifts up Snufkin’s wrist, manoeuvres it best he can to avoid touching the skin and manages to get the twine between his teeth. He can smell Snufkin’s skin and it feels like getting hit in the stomach by a Mymble running full pelt. The twine hangs limp from Snufkin’s pocket and they both look at it for what is certainly too long.

‘Seems a shame to waste it,’ Moomin says and Snufkin shrugs, starting to gather it up. 

‘I don’t consider it to have been wasted. It simply served its purpose,’ Snufkin says and Moomin can’t help but think that sounds rather sad as well. Snufkin notices; he always does and oh, how Moomin wishes he might see something in Snufkin as clearly as Snufkin seems to see him someday. ‘But I can find a use for it, if you’d like.’ 

‘Like what?’

‘Some of it can be worked into a lure,’ Snufkin says, poking at the edge of the twine where Moomin had bitten through. It’s frayed there, like a fish’s fin. ‘Or maybe jewellery. I could simply use it to strap up my sleeping bag a little tighter, as well.’ 

‘Do that,’ Moomin decides firmly. Snufkin tilts his head, eyes hidden but he’s smiling. Moomin can see that much and everything that seemed so uncertain a moment ago seems very sure again. 

‘If you like.’

All the way back up to the house, Moomin tells himself not to look behind him. _Don’t do it,_ he keeps thinking like a mantra. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.  
  
When he reaches the front door, Moomin pauses and wrestles with the urge to turn his head. What is it he thinks he’ll see? Snufkin will be in his tent, prepping coffee to brew no doubt. But Moomin wants to look just in case he sees Snufkin once more before the day ends.

Moomin looks. He doesn’t see Snufkin, he must be in his tent and the disappointment is so sharp, Moomin actually runs inside as though it were some small creep nipping at him. 

Upstairs, Moomin just arrives on the landing when the bathroom door opens. Steam billows out and from within it, a small Mymble reveals herself, already in her nightdress and wet hair wrapped in a small towel. 

‘Where’s Mama and Papa?’ 

‘Didn’t you see the note on the table?’ Little My asks, scrubbing a finger around her ear. ‘They’re trapped at Mrs Fillyjonk’s. Discussing Bealtaine and how best to ruin it with that woman’s horrible figaireys, probably. How’s Snufkin? Survive you in the end, did he?’ 

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Moomin says, self-conscious talking about Snufkin for some reason. 

Little My looks up at him with something that almost looks like sympathy. ‘Silly troll. You really don’t know a thing, do you?’

‘I know lots of things!’

‘Not the important stuff though,’ Little My sighs, heading off towards her room. 

Moomin remembers as he watches her go; ‘Hey! Little My! Did you figure out the answer to that question of yours, or do you still need help?’

‘Oh, don’t you worry! You helped plenty!’ Little My calls after, turning up the stairs, before hopping down for a moment. She smiles wickedly; ‘By the way, we’re out of hot water. Better scrub extra hard to get all that dirt off, or no one will want to be tied up with you even if given the choice.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... _out of the darkness_ by matthew and the atlas 
> 
> that's one solid snufmin angst track, 10/10
> 
> Also I know Bealtaine is a Gaelic festival, not a Nordic one but...


	4. Chapter 4

Moomin walks in to catch her in the act.  
  
‘Can I help you at all?’ Moomin asks, paws on his hips. Little My pauses in her scrambling against the bookshelf in his bedroom, turning to give him masterfully blank look. ‘Take one corner while you take the other?’  
  
‘I get the feeling you don’t mean that,’ she says, pulling herself up to sit on the shelf proper as opposed to hanging it off like a bizarre creep. Moomin tuts grumpily.  
  
‘No, I don’t,’ he says, walking towards her. She’s not quite at the top, but she’s close and he’ll need his little step to get her. He considers his options as she swings her little feet. ‘What are you doing in here?’  
  
‘Nosy,’ Little My says like she’s not the one who’s rummaging through someone’s things without permission.  
  
‘It’s not nosy if it’s about my own stuff,’ Moomin tells her, looking around the room to see she must’ve worked her way up to the bookshelf. His bedside locker has been opened; his desk is a terrible mess as well. ‘What on earth are you looking for?’  
  
Little My huffs. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’  
  
‘Seeing as you’re going through my room to find it, yes. I rather would, thanks,’ Moomin says, irritated now. He points a paw downwards. ‘Get down from there, please.’  
  
Little My doesn’t even attempt an impression that she might consider doing so. Instead, she stands up on the shelf. She’s short enough that she just fits inside, like a book. She starts running her little hand along the spines that are there. ‘You have an awful lot of travelling books here, more than last time I looked.’  
  
‘Do I?’ Moomin says, aiming for breezy and clearly missing by the way Little My casts him a dubious look. ‘I don’t think I do, perhaps I’ve just organised better and it only looks like there’s more as they’re all together now in one place.’  
  
‘Where are the stories?’ Little My asks, reaching a hand out to start pulling herself up to the top shelf. ‘You used to have lots more stories. Pirate books and stories of dopey princesses who went and got themselves locked up in towers.’  
  
‘If you’re looking for a story, why don’t you try Papa’s library instead?’ Moomin asks, very suspicious as Little My climbs higher.  
  
‘I want a very particular story,’ Little My says and Moomin thinks he has an idea alright of what she’s looking for. She makes a thoughtful noise from the top of the bookshelf, her back to Moomin as she reads the spines up there. ‘Hmm. More travelling books. There’s even some maps up here.’  
  
‘Is there? I didn’t really notice. Papa asked me to put some things away for him, I didn’t bother looking if I’m honest,’ Moomin says, holding his arms out as Little My turns to look down at him. ‘Will you come down now?’  
  
Little My gives a small wiggle, before jumping from the bookshelf down into Moomin’s arms. He deposits her on the bed, where she starts tapping a small foot on the duvet.

‘You shouldn’t lie, Moomintroll. First of all, you’re not very good at it. Second of all, it’ll just make you look silly when I figure out what you’re lying for.’  
  
‘What’s third of all?’ Moomin asks sarcastically and Little My gives him a very dark frown. He sighs. ‘I’m not lying, alright. Just leave it and get out of my room, please.’  
  
Little My looks for a moment like she might argue, but instead she just slips down from the bed and makes her way to the door. She closes it with far more a slam than is warranted and Moomin winces from the noise, looking at the mess she’s left behind her. It’ll take him ages to put everything back into its proper place.  
  
But before all that, Moomin goes over to check the door is indeed closed. And then, just for good measure and even better experience, he takes the key from the wall and puts it in the lock to keep peeping out. Once satisfied, Moomin goes over to his bed and pushes it over.  
  
He pries up the edge of one of the floorboards, trying to be careful so not to make too much noise. It pops up with a little snap anyway and he moves it aside, looking in to see that what’s hidden is still there. Looks like Little My hasn’t found it yet and hopefully she won’t come looking again, thinking Moomin has hidden it elsewhere.  
  
Moomin puts the floorboard back, hammering it into place with his paw. He had thought it a little paranoid to go to these lengths, but if there’s one thing he can rely on Little My for, it’s being well and truly herself. In such a case as that, paranoid is really the least he can allow himself to be.

*/

Coming into April, the weather is beginning to warm but clouds roll low over the mountains. It feels like it’s going to rain.

 _This is enough,_ Snufkin thinks as they walk through the orchard. It’s far too early in the year for apples, but there are some blooms on the branches and the grass is still dewy beneath their feet at this hour of the morning.

Snufkin looks at Moomintroll as he walks ahead, down at where his feet disappear in the grass. They are tough, possibly tougher than Snufkin’s old boots and Snufkin has to remind himself every year that Moomintroll can’t feel the cold and the wet like Snufkin does. He has a quiet strength to him, one Snufkin has admired always and in the last two or three seasons, even come to….

Snufkin stops that trail of thought quickly. He’s gotten so remarkably good at it, really. Like changing direction to keep the wind on his back, Snufkin side-steps around what he’s been beginning to suspect of himself. Self-preservation has always been a Mumrik’s particular talent, after all.

Moomintroll has a basket under one arm, cumbersomely balanced as it is laden with various tools for pruning. Technically, this orchard is wild but the Moomins have been pruning and watching it as long as Snufkin has been coming to Moominvalley. When Moomintroll had called on his tent that morning, he’d asked if Snufkin would like to accompany him for this year’s gardening and Snufkin had had plans. But they just didn’t seem as appealing as this.

‘Oh dear,’ Moomintroll says as he stops at a tree a little ways through the orchard. It’s looking a little sorry for itself, with some branches hanging low and brittle. Moomintroll puts down the basket and points over to the left. ‘Can you bring me the ladder? We keep it in a shed-'

‘By the briars, yes. I remember,’ Snufkin says heading over to said shed where it lies mostly hidden by a wild and tangled collection of blackberry bushes. The shed isn’t locked, safe as Moominvalley is and Snufkin smiles to himself about it. He’s passed through towns where they have bars on the windows. 

It’s a little awkward, but Snufkin manages to get the ladder out. It’s dusty from a Winter of disuse and he wrinkles his nose to dispel the sneeze he feels creeping. Back at the tree Moomintroll has chosen to start with, the troll is walking around it with a very serious look on his face. It clears the second he looks over to Snufkin, rushing over to help with the ladder.

‘You’ve got a cobweb on your hat,’ Moomintroll says, reaching up to brush at it.   
  
It brings him so close that Snufkin can see some stray greenflies that have stuck to his shoulders. Snufkin returns the favour by brushing them off, marvelling at how soft Moomintroll’s fur is to touch. Snufkin doesn’t get the chance very often.

‘Check for spiders, you might need one,’ Snufkin says and Moomintroll looks down at him. ‘Greenflies, on your coat.’

‘Oh, bugger,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin scoffs, thrown entirely but amused by Moomintroll’s swearing. Moomintroll twitches his ears with embarrassment; ‘Sorry, no need for language really. But it is annoying. Snorkmaiden used to have this citronella oil; it was the job for things like this. Maybe I can ask her to send me some. She said she was bottling it soon.’

Snufkin’s mood drops instantly and he speaks without meaning to; ‘You were talking to her?’

‘Often enough, but Snork doesn’t have a telephone in his workshop, she has to go to the nearest post office,’ Moomintroll says, taking the ladder from Snufkin and starting to set it up. ‘Can you imagine being an inventor without a telephone?’

Snufkin can’t because he’s too busy imagining Moomintroll using that phone in his kitchen to call Snorkmaiden. Not that it should matter a jot if Moomintroll does such a thing. Not to Snufkin anyway. But his stomach sinks as Snufkin thinks about it, how after a nice day spent together Moomintroll goes back to his house and calls Snorkmaiden. 

It’s so ridiculous a thing to be upset about. What did Snufkin think would happen? They’d uncouple and- what? Never see or speak to each other again? It’s a completely unreasonable expectation and one Snufkin hadn’t even realised he’d been holding until this very moment. 

Snufkin still hasn’t moved from where Moomintroll has left him as the troll fishes out an axe from the basket. 

‘I can repay the favour and send her some nice seashells from the beach. She can have them for her windowsill. Want to come and help me find some?’

Not all that keen on walking the beach in what may still be a rainy day looking for seashells for Snorkmaiden, Snufkin ignores the question and walks over to help steady the ladder as Moomintroll starts to climb up towards the branches. His mood has taken a turn rather like the murky clouds over head. 

‘I didn’t think you’d be on speaking terms,’ Snufkin mumbles, more to himself than anything but Moomintroll hears him anyway. 

‘Well, I can’t very well turn off how much I liked her just because- well, because of the other thing.’

Snufkin sucks his lip between his teeth and bites down on it. 

‘Friends really isn’t so bad though. If anything, I think friends might be better,’ Moomintroll says as he starts to drive the axe at the join of a low branch. Snufkin stays quiet, lost to his own thoughts and the solid _thump_ of the axe hitting wood. ‘Certainly less complicated, I’m finding. I don’t have to try so very hard.’

‘Admiration will always find a way to entangle,’ Snufkin says bitterly. ‘If you care for someone too much you’re doomed to bend one way or another.’

Moomintroll stops his hacking and Snufkin doesn't notice at first, lost to his thoughts. He glances up the ladder at where Moomin looks over his shoulder down at him. 

‘That’s a very bleak way of looking at it, Snufkin,’ Moomintroll scolds, shaking his head. ‘Remind me never to come to you for help with heartache.’

With that, Moomintroll goes back to his pruning. Stray twigs and chips fall and Snufkin can feel them land on his hat. He’s finding it very hard to care one way or another, his mind too full with the idea of Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden talking on the telephone. Sending packages, letters maybe and they’d only been apart half a season. Snufkin only sends one letter a year and he finds himself leaving it later and later each one that passes. 

Trolls really are a completely different set of creatures. Snufkin doesn’t usually feel so bad about that, but right now, it feels like a great canyon too wide to ford. 

‘Snufkin?’

His hat suddenly lifts off his head. Snufkin blinks as he’s brought back to himself. Moomintroll has come back down the ladder; almost all the way save for where Snufkin blocks him.   
  
Moomintroll tips Snufkin’s hat over, sending a collection of pale yellow apple-tree bark raining down. Moomintroll doesn’t return it, instead flipping it onto his own head. From this angle, Snufkin can see Moomintroll’s smile all the way.

‘Going to let me down?’

Snufkin steps aside and Moomintroll jumps the rest of the way. He looks at Snufkin, seeming so much taller with the hat perched on his head. 

‘You all right? You look a bit peaky,’ Moomintroll asks, tipping the brim of Snufkin’s hat up with a flick of his fingers. 

It’s so small an action and it bursts inside Snufkin’s chest with a luminous affection, too bright to look at. He doesn’t want to talk about that though. Or how thinking about Snorkmaiden calling Moomintroll late at night makes Snufkin feel like he’s slogging uphill with no end in sight. Doesn’t want to even think about how tangled up those two things are inside, like knotty blackberry briars.

‘It’s going to rain,’ Snufkin says instead of any of that. Moomintroll waves him off.

‘Nah. The clouds are only tricking us, I’m sure.’

It only takes a short while for the clouds to prove they were not, in fact, tricking any which way. They’re working on the fourth or so tree before the heavens open, split like a bag and the rain pours down on top of them. Moomintroll grabs Snufkin by the paw and runs for shelter under one of the older apple trees, the two of them pressing up against the trunk for some cover under the leaves.

They’re laughing, chests heaving and still holding paws. Feeling the way Moomintroll’s fur sticks to his fingers from the rain, Snufkin reminds himself that _This is enough._

Friends is more than enough.

*/

Bealtaine is coming up a lot faster than Moomin would’ve thought possible. After Wednesday, Moomin fully intends to sleep off the well-earned hangover after all this bother.

He keeps working on the garland on his lap, stringing seashells and even some sea-glass together to hang on the May-bushes out in the back garden, where the party will be hosted. Papa and Too-Ticky are out there now, arranging logs to Mama’s satisfaction. Going by the stray yell of frustration that comes through the window, Moomin suspects Little My is out there as well offering her own...help.  
  
Moomin reaches for his next piece of decoration, holding the amber sea-glass up to the light. It really is a lovely thing, almost gold and familiar in how the light catches it. Moomin is almost reluctant to use it, thinking it might do better on his bedroom shelf; he likes it a lot for some reason.  
  
‘Moomintroll!’  
  
Moomin’s ears perk up at the sound of Snufkin’s voice and he looks up to see Snufkin leaning in through the window of the living-room. He tilts his head, brown eyes moving over the spread out webwork of the garland.  
  
‘Oh. You’re busy.’  
  
‘Not too busy,’ Moomin says, certainly lying. ‘What do you need?  
  
‘What are you doing?’ Snufkin asks, leaning in further.  
  
‘Making a garland,’ Moomin confesses, holding up what he has so far. It shimmers in the limited sunlight and the shells chime slightly. ‘For the May-bushes. Bealtaine on Wednesday, you know.’  
  
‘I see,’ Snufkin replies, drumming his fingers on the windowsill. ‘Well, then, I will not keep you. Cheerio!’  
  
‘Wait!’ Moomin says, jumping up and getting his legs tangled in the string he hasn’t used yet. He stumbles, barely keeping his balance and reaching for the nearest table. The lamp on it trembles, but survives and Moomin tries not to let the embarrassment flood him entirely. ‘I’m glad you’re here, I was going to look for you later! Are you coming on Wednesday?’  
  
‘Ah,’ Snufkin sighs, withdrawing from the window entirely as Moomin comes closer. ‘I don’t think so, if I am to be honest.’  
  
‘Oh, please do,’ Moomin says, not above begging. ‘That’s what I wanted you for. I was going to ask you to come, if no one else had yet.’  
  
‘Who else would ask me but you?’ Snufkin says kindly before he snaps his mouth shut quickly like a frog. It’s so odd a thing to do, Moomin actually frowns at him for it. Snufkin clears his throat. ‘If everyone is here, then the valley will be quiet. There’s quite a bit I could be doing to take advantage of that.’  
  
‘It won’t be as big as the Midsummer party,’ Moomin says, thinking on his feet. ‘If you come to this one, then you won’t have to go to the other. You usually skip Bealtaine anyway, because Mrs Fillyjonk hosts. But it’s me- I mean, us this year. So why not just come Wednesday instead of Midsummer?’  
  
‘You want me to miss Midsummer?’ Snufkin asks, sounding curious more than anything and Moomin wrings his paws, nervous.  
  
‘Well, it’s just- I know that you weren’t very… comfortable there last year,’ Moomin manages, sneaking a glance up at Snufkin. Who’s watching with that Snufkin-look; the kind that makes Moomin worry Snufkin might be able to read his mind and Moomin wouldn’t have any idea.  
  
‘I shouldn’t have left you like that,’ Snufkin says of last year’s Midsummer party.  
  
‘It’s fine! I get it, I really do,’ Moomin replies and he means it. But Snufkin doesn’t look convinced. ‘You need your space and a big party is kind of the opposite of that. But I’d really be so pleased if you came on Wednesday.’  
  
‘So much so you’d sacrifice your favourite party of the year?’  
  
‘It’s only my favourite 'cause it’s the only one you go to,’ Moomin confesses and it goes very quiet then.  
  
That was… far too much. Moomin only ever aims to be honest with Snufkin where possible, but right there he missed _honest_ and landed somewhere in the vicinity of _absolute buggering madness._ There are some things a fellow shouldn’t say except to very particular people and even if Moomin were to consider Snufkin in that little box, Snufkin would most certainly not appreciate it.  
  
Snufkin has moved his head, hat hiding his face and Moomin wants to reach over and the tip the thing, right off his head, just to get an idea of what Snufkin might be thinking. Asides from telling Moomin to jog all the way on, of course.  
  
‘You know what,’ Moomin says, waving his paw and forcing a laugh that come across far too manic. ‘Forget it. Silly idea, you’d probably hate it. It won’t be as warm as Midsummer and there won’t be fireworks. Just the bonfire really and what’s that compared to- forget the whole thing! You should definitely just- just go doing whatever it is you were doing and-'  
  
‘All right, then. I’ll come.’  
  
‘What?’ Moomin squawks, voice squeaking in shock by this turn. ‘Really?’  
  
‘I won’t be on time,’ Snufkin says, looking up from under his hat. He looks strangely- well, guarded if Moomin were to put a word to it. ‘And I’m not dressing up.’  
  
‘You’re welcome any time you fancy it, and I’d never want you any other way than you are,’ Moomin says, so excited that he’s gone and said something remarkably stupid. Again.  
  
Snufkin seems to have deemed the whole conversation a wash out anyway, as he says nothing else. He just nods and walks away across the veranda and down onto the grass. Moomin watches him go for too long, repeating his own words in his heads as though beating himself with a large stick. Not many people can manage to make a dog’s dinner of asking one’s friend to a party, but by hook or by unfortunate crook, Moomin feels he did just then.  
  
‘Idiot,’ he says to himself, returning to his garland.  
  
Moomin wants more than anything for Snufkin to think he’s cool. Moomin thinks Snufkin is possibly the coolest person he knows, if not the coolest person in the world. Lately though, Moomin feels like he’s not even reaching the mediocre level of cool he’s capable of. The last few weeks, Moomin has seen Snufkin less and when he does, it always seems to go this way now. Snufkin is himself and Moomin flounders miserably as he is so.  
  
Has it always been so difficult, talking together? Moomin doesn’t think so.  
  
Still, it’s not enough of an embarrassment to stop how excited Moomin is that Snufkin agreed to come. He entertains himself with ideas of how the evening will be spent, wondering what Snufkin might say of the records Papa has chosen to play on the phonograph. Thinking about the small bake-wells Mama will make and how he’ll have to be sure to save some, as he’s confident in saying they’re Snufkin’s favourite.  
  
These happy thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a small Mymble throwing herself onto his back.  
  
‘What are you doing?’ Little My asks, hands too tight around Moomin’s neck as she scrambles up on top of him. She settles with a leg on either shoulder, her bony chin digging into the top of his head.  
  
‘Minding my own business?’ Moomin manages to get out, rubbing at where she dug her nails into his neck. ‘You should give it a try sometime.’  
  
‘I know my own business, so there’s no adventure in that,’ Little My says like that’s perfectly reasonable. ‘I saw Snufkin walking away earlier. Did you tick him off again?’  
  
‘No. Actually, he’s coming to Bealtaine on Wednesday. So you’ll have to find someone else to annoy, as I’m quite spoken for,’ Moomin says proudly, before hearing himself and quickly adding; ‘Er, not like that. I mean- never mind.’  
  
‘Not like that,’ Little My repeats thoughtfully. ‘Did you ask him to go?’  
  
‘Yes, why?’  
  
‘No reason at all,’ Little My replies, pointing past Moomin’s cheek at the brown sea-glass he’d been holding earlier and has now set aside. ‘What’s wrong with that one?’  
  
‘Nothing’s wrong with it,’ Moomin says, reaching for a piece of shell to add. ‘I liked it, so I’ve decided to keep it.  
  
‘What do you like about it?’  
  
‘You’re awfully nosy lately,’ Moomin says, avoiding the question. ‘More so than usual. You’re not up to something, are you?’  
  
‘You going to give it to Snufkin?’  
  
Moomin drops the shell and scrambles to try and catch it before it falls, getting string wrapped all around his fingers. ‘Why- why would I do? Do you think… do you think he’d like it?’  
  
‘Well, seeing as I’m Little My and he’s Snufkin, I’m not the one who’d know what Snufkin would like one way or another, now am I?’ Little My says unhelpfully. ‘I thought perhaps it was a shiny thing to bring to your Bealtaine date.’  
  
_‘My what?!’_ Moomin says, bolting upright. He stumbles over the garland, caught around his legs and his fingers and Little My is sent tumbling backwards. Moomin falls onto his bottom in the other direction, facing where Little My has landed on her back. ‘It’s not- I didn’t-! Y-you can’t just say things like that!’  
  
‘Why?’ Little My says, rolling up like a toy. She eyes him sharply; ‘Is it not a date?’  
  
‘Of course it’s not a date!’  
  
‘Then what is it?’ asks Little My, before she holds her chin in a manner almost thoughtful. ‘Ohh, I see. You still haven’t figured it out.’  
  
Moomin frowns. ‘Figured what out?’  
  
‘So you’re not giving Snufkin that shiny thing?’ Little My asks as if she’d said nothing unusual at all. Moomin stammers for a moment, thrown by the change of topic.  
  
‘Uh. No, I’m not,’ he says, feeling uneasy and waiting for Little My to say something else. He starts to untangle himself from the garland, careful not to snap the string. ‘Snufkin doesn’t like things anyway. Shiny or otherwise. He told me once he prefers having the memory of it than the thing itself.’  
  
‘Really?’ Little My says, sounding genuinely interested. Moomin eyes her, suspicious. ‘I suppose you found that a very wise thing to say.’  
  
Moomin had, actually, and finds himself embarrassed; ‘So what if I did!’  
  
‘Bit like looking into the future though, isn’t it?’ she replies mysteriously and Moomin truly doesn’t know what she means by that. Little My shrugs, hopping up with purpose and making her way towards the kitchen. ‘Wonder what’ll happen the day he decides he’d rather remember you than have you?’  
  
She’s most certainly being her nasty self for no reason. It is her nature. But her words hit Moomin like a blow, and sitting alone in the centre of the room, Moomin thinks about what’s he’s been trying not to since last Hibernation.   
  
Quite suddenly, Wednesday seems an awfully long time to wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ben wyatt voice* it's about the _yearning_
> 
> unrelated: i may need to update this with another tag


	5. Chapter 5

Snufkin can hear the music from his campsite. The party has been underway close to an hour now and he’s still here, in his tent, wondering what exactly he should do.  
  
He wants to go and see Moomintroll. Moomintroll, however, is at the party. The party Snufkin did say he would go to. The party that also has a great deal of people- some people who would’ve been at Midsummer last year and were likely there to see the way Snufkin left Moomintroll the last time.  
  
For the last hour, Snufkin has been sitting in his tent, going through these exact thoughts over and over.  
  
It really shouldn’t matter. That Snufkin left Moomintroll last time. He’s left Moomintroll plenty of times and Moomintroll always forgives him. But Snufkin can’t stop thinking about the people. The people who saw. The people who might say something when he arrives this evening.  
  
_Is that Snufkin?_ they might say, pointing at him as he shows up. _Moomintroll’s friend? Well, not a very good one. Did you hear he left Moomintroll all alone last year at Midsummer? Perhaps he’ll do it again._

Perhaps he will do it again. What does it matter to any creature should he do it again?  
  
No one would stop him should he decide to leave, Moomintroll or otherwise, but Snufkin feels awfully like there’s not much choice once a decision is made. If he goes, he can’t very well abandon Moomintroll twice a year over with everyone looking. Or at least, Snufkin feels he can’t.  
  
Oh, an expectation is a very cumbersome thing.

Snufkin should never have said yes. There’s an implication in this whole affair, the concession made to come tonight so he might be free not to go to Midsummer making Snufkin feel like he really ought to see this one through.  
  
He doesn’t like it one bit. It’s almost too much like a promise and while Snufkin doesn’t mind a promise, he rather does mind one said aloud.  
  
Snufkin pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face on the top of them.

He’s being ridiculous. The party will be fun; the music is only so loud because there are far less people to drown it out than the usual swell at Midsummer.

If Snufkin goes, it won’t be like last year and even if it is, he’s more than entitled to leave. Moomintroll probably wouldn’t even notice.  
  
If Snufkin goes. When Snufkin goes. If, when. If, when.  
  
Except there’s one niggling thought on the matter- Snufkin does actually want Moomintroll to notice.

Snufkin wants Moomintroll to notice he’s late, want’s Moomintroll to notice should he leave. Should he not come at all. Can’t stop picturing how much better it might be for Moomintroll to come after him, one way or another and they might run off somewhere together. Alone and then Snufkin doesn’t have to worry about anybody looking, anybody noticing, or knowing-  
  
‘Oh,’ Snufkin whines, curling in tighter on himself. ‘Not good. Very not good.’  
  
He’s taken to telling himself aloud how terrible it is of him to think these things. Snufkin is getting very selfish, getting very bad at doing the one thing he’s supposed to be doing.

Thinking about it out and in the wilds of the world during the Winter months is one thing. One must do what one must when the snow is heavy and wind cold after all.  
  
Snufkin shouldn’t think of it here in Moominvalley though. Here in the Spring, Snufkin can’t allow himself to get greedy about it. Can't allow it make decisions for him he'd rather not make.  
  
It’s really all very lonely, Snufkin finds. Admiring someone.

Snufkin takes a deep breath, scolding himself for wallowing. He grabs his mouth organ from next to him, shuffles up to the door of the tent- before stopping again. He’s made it this far about three times already and again, he falters.  
  
What is he so afraid of? Asides from the obvious, of course.  
  
The obvious is a rather scary thing, though.  
  
If/when. If/when. If/when-  
  
‘Snufkin, are you still in there?!’  
  
Snufkin gives a shriek of fright, tumbling backwards as someone suddenly shouts at him through his tent. He lands on his back, heart jumping into his throat as he listens to someone shuffling outside.  
  
‘You’ve left your hat out here,’ the voice says and Snufkin realises it’s Sniff.

He sits back up, steeled by the idea of Sniff touching something he shouldn’t be. Snufkin leaves the tent to find exactly that, as Sniff has taken Snufkin’s hat up from the grass and put it on his head.

‘Oh, there you are! I thought you’d be at the party by now.’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t answer, just holds out a hand silently and Sniff visibly shrinks, handing the hat back over.  
  
‘Heh. Just keeping it warm for you,' Sniff says, clearing his throat dramatically. 'Are you coming to Moominhouse?'

Snufkin puts the hat on his head, looking past Sniff up towards Moominhouse. He can’t see the party from here, in the back garden as it is. But some of the golden light from the lanterns reaches around the house in a soft glow.  
  
‘I…’ Snufkin tightens his grip on his mouth organ. ‘I am, yes.’  
  
‘Oh, wow! Will you play us a song?’ Sniff asks, pointing a paw to the instrument and Snufkin mentally kicks himself.  
  
‘Maybe,’ is all he says, following slowly as Sniff starts making his way towards Moominhouse. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’  
  
‘Moomintroll will be pleased if you do,’ Sniff says and while of all the people in the valley to guess one way or another Sniff certainly isn’t one of them- Snufkin goes tense anyway, second-guessing.  
  
By the time Snufkin arrives at the party, he’s been working himself up quite a bit. Thinking about who might be there, what they might say, what they might see. As it happens, Snufkin rounds the corner of Moominhouse to the back garden and not a blessed soul looks up.  
  
It is a smaller affair than Midsummer, that much is clear though Snufkin still doesn’t know most of the guests personally. Sniff walks off immediately towards the table at the other end of the garden and though Snufkin would hardly pick Sniff as first company, he can’t help but feeling slightly at a loss without him.  
  
Snufkin lingers at the edge of the party, eyes scanning over the faces until he spots-  
  
‘Snufkin!’  
  
Moomintroll sees him first. Snufkin lets the breath he’s been holding out and smiles as Moomintroll makes his way over. Moomintroll has two cups in his hands and Snufkin takes one gratefully as Moomintroll comes up to him. Moomintroll is perfectly close and Snufkin relaxes entirely into it, letting their shoulders come together. He takes a sip of his drink, humming happily.  
  
‘Honey mead,’ he says and Moomintroll grins next to him, canines sharp from this angle.  
  
‘Your favourite,’ Moomintroll says, clinking their cups together. ‘Should still be cold from the ice box.’  
  
‘It’s perfect,’ Snufkin says and it is. Suddenly, everything truly is.  
  
Moomintroll and he move into the party properly, Moomintroll leading them to a log at the other side of what will no doubt become a makeshift dance area. Sniff is perched at the other end, nibbling quite happily through various small tartlets and though Snufkin can’t see Little My anywhere, he suspects she’s nearby.  
  
They talk a long while, Snufkin telling Moomintroll about his day. It hadn't been a particularly interesting one, but one wouldn't think so from how Moomintroll asks after everything. He's so attentive, so genuinely interested and Snufkin's ego purrs happily inside of himself as they go.   
  
Moomintroll does make him feel almost important.   
  
‘The garlands look wonderful,’ Snufkin says after finishing his story, inclining his empty cup over towards the May-bushes. They’re twinkling with sea glass and pearlescent seashells. Moomintroll scratches the back of his neck, bashful.  
  
‘Thank you, I hoped you’d like them,’ he says, looking away quickly and taking a long sip of his own mead. He holds a paw out for Snufkin’s cup. ‘Want a refill?’  
  
‘Go on then.’

Snufkin smiles and Moomintroll smiles back, heading over to the long table. Snufkin watches him go, hand on his mouth organ in his pocket. Maybe he will play a song after all; it really isn’t so bad an evening now he's here and he feels a song brewing with the gentle contentment he feels.

‘Showed up, did you?’  
  
Little My hops over the back of the log, appearing from apparently nowhere. She settles between Sniff and Snufkin, pilfering a small cake from the former’s plate.  
  
‘I’m not the best for time-keeping,’ Snufkin says good-naturedly, waving as Moomintroll makes his way back towards them. The record on the phonograph has been changed, something a little faster and some people are starting to make their way for a dance. ‘But I said I would come. So here I am.’  
  
‘Just as well. Moomintroll is so annoying when he’s forced to mope after you,’ Little My says and Snufkin ducks his head in embarrassment as Moomintroll arrives back to him at that moment.  
  
Moomintroll gives both cups to Snufkin, who takes them with some puzzlement; ‘Can you mind my drink for me? I told Papa I’d help him shift a table to make more space for the dancing.’  
  
‘Of course,’ Snufkin says but Moomintroll is already heading away. Snufkin breathes in the malty scent of his mead, taking a sip as Sniff sighs dramatically next to him and Little My.  
  
‘I can’t believe the dancing is starting already,’ Sniff pouts. ‘I thought I’d have more time to work on the ladies.’  
  
‘Unless that work was a lobotomy, you had no hope of convincing any of them,’ Little My says cruelly and Snufkin gives her a scolding look, which goes unheeded. Sniff huffs, greatly offended. ‘You’d want someone fierce brave to dance with you. You’ve got two left feet and manage to step on everyone’s toes with both of them every time.’  
  
‘You’re brave,’ Sniff suggests and Snufkin smiles into his mead, knowing that that is most certainly not going to work but he admires Sniff’s gall.

Little My makes a suitably disgusted noise.  
  
‘Dream on, you snivelling worm.’  
  
‘You don’t need a lady to dance,’ Snufkin says, taking pity. He watches as Moomintroll moves the table over with one mighty push, breath catching a little with the show of strength. Has Moomintroll always been quite that strong? ‘Just a partner with sturdy boots.’  
  
‘You’re the only one here with any boots.’  
  
Snufkin hasn’t thought of that and he freezes, looking at Sniff blankly as he tries to think of something to say.  
  
‘He’s taken,’ Little My says firmly, waving a hand vaguely to the party ‘Go ask one of those Hemulen girls. I think two of them don’t know you and hopefully the others aren’t too chatty, so you might be in with a chance there.’  
  
‘I wasn't asking him!’ Sniff says, clearly as mortified as Snufkin is. ‘Not much of a look in with the way Moomintroll holds a torch for him anyway, even if I wanted to! Which, by the way, I definitely do not!’

Sniff stops glaring at Little My to give Snufkin a sympathetic look.  
  
‘No offence, Snufkin,’ Sniff says and Snufkin hides behind his cup. ‘You’re just not my type. I know Moomintroll thinks you’re cool and mysterious-'

‘I don’t think Moomintroll has ever used either of those words to describe Snufkin.’ Little My shuts Sniff down the same way someone might swat a fly. She looks up at Snufkin, a glint in her eye; ‘At least not to his face. Right, Snufkin?’

Snufkin doesn’t answer. He feels that’s the most polite thing to do.  
  
'You know, I think I'm in with a shot with her,' Sniff proclaims suddenly, looking eagerly towards one of the Hemulens that have walked over to the tartlets. 'Wish me luck!'  
  
'Wouldn't even wish you a hood in the rain,' Little My says as Sniff hops off into the party.   
  
Snufkin is watching Moomintroll, who has been roped into more finagling by the looks of things. His blue eyes meet Snufkin's across the party, and though Snufkin can't quite see from this far, he knows Moomintroll is doing his best to convey _I'm sorry!_

Snufkin smiles at him, not in the least bit bothered. The night is early yet and Moominpapa clearly has plans for this dance, changing the record on the phonograph.  
  
Snufkin is more than happy to wait.   
  
Little My stands up on the log. She makes a pensive little sound before asking; ‘Is it worth it?’  
  
'Is what worth it?’ Snufkin replies, looking away from where Moomintroll is listening to whatever Moominpapa is saying with increasing exasperation.   
  
Little My mimes zipping her mouth shut and something in Snufkin's chest seizes.  
  
‘Keeping it all locked up like that. It can’t be good for you, having a secret inside. Mother says that a secret can’t hurt you, but keeping it can.’  
  
‘Perhaps it depends on the secret,’ Snufkin says cautiously, taking a long sip of his mead. Little My makes an impatient noise.  
  
‘That doesn’t make any sense. A secret’s a secret.’

‘Not all things are made equal, little one.’

They’re interrupted by a loud whistle. 

Across the room, Moominpapa and Moominmama have now taken to the floor, dancing close together with smiles bright enough to challenge the lanterns. Moomintroll stands by the phonograph, rolling his eyes but laughing along. Snufkin’s stomach squeezes as though hungry. 

‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ Little My says and Snufkin looks at her in question. She shrugs. ‘The way Moomins are. All that lovey-dovey stuff. Do you think Moomintroll will be that silly about it when he gets married?’

Snufkin’s blood goes cold, overcome suddenly with the image of Moomintroll spinning across the dancefloor, paw in paw with some strange troll. Perhaps the ribbon still tied between them. Snufkin used to think of Snorkmaiden. He thinks he could've borne that really, but some stranger...  
  
‘I suppose he will.’  
  
‘Mymbles don’t believe in marriage. Not like Moomins do. Moomins love marriage, and weddings, and being together forever and ever,’ Little My continues, tapping her small foot against the log. ‘What about Mumriks?’  
  
‘I can’t say I know,’ Snufkin replies meekly. ‘I’ve never met another.’  
  
‘Snufkins, then? You’ve met yourself, haven’t you?’  
  
‘Sometimes I wonder,’ Snufkin sighs, taking another sip of his drink.

Little My is quiet then and Snufkin feels the relief of that grit its teeth- some creatures aren’t made for quiet and he looks at Little My, wondering what’s made her so.   
  
'I can hear you thinking even over that rubbish record,' Little My snaps, glaring at him full force now. 'What's on your mind, tramp?'  
  
'Nothing particular,' Snufkin lies breezily. 'I'm just enjoying the evening.'  
  
'Enjoying your secret, more like,' Little My says and Snufkin drinks his mead rather than answer. 'Which, by the way, you're not all that good at keeping. You just lucked out that Moomintroll is remarkably stupid.'  
  
Snufkin chokes on the mead.   
  
'Attractive,' Little My quips as Snufkin furiously wipes at his face. 'No wonder you get all the trolls.'  
  
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Snufkin manages to get out from behind his hand and between coughs.   
  
'You know, that great fluffy dolt is better at keeping secrets than you. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?'  
  
Snufkin doesn't dare answer that. He knows when he's being made fun of. He looks around the party, looks at where Moomintroll is clapping along to the music. A few people have taken to dancing now, the space between them filling up as they start to form lines for what is likely to be a Maggot. He finds himself suddenly regretting the few cups of mead as his stomach turns.   
  
'Is it obvious?' Snufkin asks quietly and Little My crosses her arms.  
  
'Yes. Painfully. But like I said, Moomintroll's an idiot.'  
  
'He's not an idiot.' Little My makes a mean noise at that and Snufkin glares at her, but finds himself faltering with a small laugh. 'All right. Maybe not the brightest star. But he has other talents.'  
  
'He'd want them,' Little My says and that does make Snufkin laugh, as he can think of three off the top of his head.

Goodness, what's come over him? He'd been so afraid of anyone finding out and now someone has- but Snufkin doesn't feel like running. Really, all he feels like doing is laughing at himself. How foolish, he is.

Little My looks suspicious; 'What's so funny?'  
  
'I am,' Snufkin says truthfully. He looks down to see he's finished his mead. 'For thinking of paths not open to me.'  
  
'Don't you go wherever you fancy?'  
  
Snufkin doesn't answer. It'd be quite impossible. Not everyone can see time so clearly after all and Snufkin has been silly to let himself turn the willfully blind eye this Spring.   
  
'The deed is done,' Snufkin says and he can't stop smiling. How lonely he'd felt earlier, even this very evening, when no one but him knew. Now, Snufkin feels like something tangled has come undone inside of him and it feels good- despite everything- to say even a little of it aloud. 'Nothing I can do to change what isn't to be.'

’How's that?’

It has seemed so simple a thing and who was Snufkin trying to fool by thinking of the _what if_ during long, dark months? The what-if has happened and Snufkin is still where he is.   
  
_Enough,_ Snufkin reminds himself. _This must be enough._

‘Moomins are Moomins. And Mymbles are Mymbles,’ Little My says, waving vaguely towards the dancefloor. ‘So I guess Mumriks are Mumriks the same as any other creature. I can’t boss you into being something you’re not but...’

Little My pauses, by far the strangest thing she’s done this evening yet. The Mymble has never seemed to start a sentence she doesn’t know how to finish.   
  
‘There’s no point sitting here thinking about what you can’t have, you know,’ Little My says, hopping down to the grass abruptly. ‘It’s a party. Do what people do at parties. Go up to the person you like best and ask them to dance.’  
  
‘Perhaps I don’t know how,’ Snufkin says weakly and Little My scoffs.  
  
‘Perhaps that’s true,’ she says, starting to head away. ‘But does it really matter?’  
  
Snufkin watches her go, thinking about what he might do. He’s some mead in, the music is good and Moomintroll is right there. Perhaps Little My is right. What does it matter, any of it, right now when everything is as lovely as it is?  
  
  
*/  
  
  


  
  
_Art by Jamie Woolley -_[ link](https://jamiewoolleyart.tumblr.com/post/188151641405/commission-for-boorishbint-for-their-fic-swallow)  
  
*/

The music is in full swing now, everyone tempted away from their seats and food by drink and banter. Moomin watches as everyone begins to pair up for the Maggot, the fiddle turning festive under the phonograph needle.  
  
Moomin hovers by the table, impatiently looking around for a chance to sneak through back to Snufkin and then they might sit together, watch the dancing and joke over who really can’t seem to spot the tune when a warm body presses against him.  
  
‘Snufkin?’ Moomin asks as Snufkin appears from nowhere, before swinging around in perfect tandem to the song. 'How on earth did you manage to sneak up on me? I've been watching you the whole time!'  
  
'Not close enough,' Snufkin teases, taking his hat off and placing it on the nearby table. Snufkin stands before him now, one hand outstretched like it might be when tempting Moomin out of his bedroom window.  
  
‘Care for a dance?’ Snufkin says brightly, his smile kind and hand steady.  
  
Moomin grins, taking it and perfectly happy to be pulled into the merry fray.  
  
They haven’t danced in years, not since they were so much younger and the excitement is bubbling up inside of Moomin like a pot left on a hot, hot flame. Snufkin swings them both into the crowd seamlessly, Snufkin taking to one line of the Maggot and Moomin to the other.  
  
The song is well-known to them, Snufkin even having some version himself on the mouth organ. But it feels entirely new like this, Moomin finds.   
  
Snufkin inclines his head for the bow and Moomin returns the gesture, giggling at the ridiculousness. He catches Snufkin laughing as well and they share a look. It's so silly, doing it this way and they share the secret like they share most things.   
  
Moomin moves first, used to leading and Snufkin seems to follow easy. They cross each other over the line, arms raised and pressing together before turning away to take each other's space as the other dancers follow along.   
  
Moomin's feet are awkward in his excitement to keep it going, nearly skipping into the person ahead of him as Snufkin moves far more gracefully. Everyone is so much better at this, Snufkin included; who as it turns out is remarkably light on his booted feet. But Snufkin tends to be better at everything, Moomin finds.  
  
His paw meets Snufkin's hand in the middle, fingers locking together as the dance starts to gain momentum. They mirror the steps, pulling too tight on either end so if one were to fall, the other will definitely go with him. But Moomin doesn’t care, he doesn’t care for anything but the glorious, open expression on Snufkin’s face.  
  
How much smaller he looks, how much brighter and kinder and oh, Moomin doesn't think he's ever been happier to see him.  
  
'You're good at this!' Moomin calls out as they pass behind the pair ahead of them, ducking low so he can keep Snufkin's eye.   
  
'Liar,' Snufkin replies, grinning as he quickly side-steps around where Moominpapa by him sways too broadly.   
  
Truth be told, neither of them are very good. But as far as Moomin is concerned, this is the best dance of his life.   
  
They swing together at the crescendo, turning far too close and Moomin trips over his own feet. Luckily, Snufkin catches him best he can around the waist and just about steadies him. They nearly crash into the couple next to them, who huff indignantly but how is Moomin to care when everything is so very wonderful?   
  
Snufkin straightens them up as the song fades out, everyone stopping to give Moominpapa a clap for his choice in record. Moomin doesn't look anywhere but at Snufkin, who looks right back and how fine that is, to have Snufkin's attention.

‘Snufkin…’ Moomin says, his name rushing all out in one breath. Snufkin is red-faced, eyes shining and Moomin selfishly watches. ‘I…’  
  
‘Yes?’ Snufkin asks, stepping a little closer. Moomin can smell him again- that smell that makes Moomin feel like he could float off somewhere. Moomin swallows around his words, so unsure but eager and it’s like fireworks inside.  
  
‘I… You… You really know how to dance,’ Moomin says finally and Snufkin blinks once at him, brown eyes so round and then Snufkin laughs. It’s a merry, hiccupping sound.  
  
‘I’m glad you think so,’ Snufkin says graciously. Snufkin makes a show of stretching, letting Moomin go. ‘Though I don’t think I have another one in me.’  
  
‘We could always-'  
  
What Moomin had wanted to say was they could always steal away somewhere. He’s warm with mead and the dance, so incredibly merry from the music and it feels like there’s a bonfire all his own in his chest. He swells with it and he wants to be with Snufkin, alone, with nothing but his company to keep those embers going.  
  
But Moomin doesn’t get the chance to say any of that, as someone takes his paw and tugs him out of his trail of thought.  
  
‘Moomintroll!’ Snorkmaiden says happily, using the paw she’s taken to spin Moomin towards her.

She’s pink as a peony this evening and it takes Moomin a long few seconds to register that it is indeed her, so different she is. When he does, he gives her a firm hug.

‘How good to see you!’  
  
‘I didn’t think you’d make it you’re so late!’ Moomin says, pleased to see her. He points his thumb to Snufkin. ‘Even Snufkin made it here before you and Snork did. Where is Snork anyway?’  
  
‘Inspecting the phonograph of course,’ Snorkmaiden says with a fond eye roll. ‘How’re you, Snufkin?’  
  
‘Fine,’ Snufkin says coolly and Moomin throws him a look, surprised. He’d been so jolly a moment ago. ‘I’m going to fetch a drink, I think.’  
  
And with that, Snufkin walks off. Moomin watches him go, his stomach dropping as he suddenly feels like he’s done something wrong but has no understanding as to what it could possibly be. He doesn’t get much of a chance to find out though, as Snorkmaiden demands he owes her their first dance as true friends.  
  
Moomin lets himself be led; the song is a much slower affair than the one he and Snufkin had danced to. Moomin spends the whole thing looking over the turning heads of everyone, trying to spot where Snufkin has run off to.  
  
He hopes Snufkin hasn’t left altogether, and that unhappy thought follows Moomin through the whole dance.  
  
Afterwards, Snorkmaiden abandons him in favour of speaking with everyone else. There are some young Hemulen maidens Moomin knows she’s somewhat friendly with and he waves her off, giving the party a quick look around. He doesn’t find Snufkin, but he does spot Papa over by the long table. He appears to be counting bottles.  
  
‘What are you doing?’ Moomin asks when he walks up, watching his father tap the neck of each bottle in another round.  
  
‘I was sure we had an extra bottle of mead left, but all I’m seeing is wine,’ Papa says, tutting slightly. ‘Not that it matters a jot, there’s plenty here for the rest of the evening but I am rather partial to the mead myself.’  
  
‘So’s Snufkin,’ Moomin says before an idea comes to him. ‘Actually, that’s likely where it’s gone now that I think about it.’  
  
‘The Mumrik took it?’ Papa says, eyebrows vanishing off under his hat. ‘I suppose that would be in their nature. Light-fingered sort.’  
  
‘Papa!’ Moomin scolds, mortified. ‘You can’t say things like that! What if he heard you?’  
  
‘I’d say he’d be flattered,’ Papa says genuinely. ‘They have very different ideas about what’s impressive, you know.’  
  
‘Great Groke,’ Moomin says, shaking his head and pouring himself a large cup of wine to take back to the party with him.  
  
He gives up on finding Snufkin after a few minutes, though it's a wrench. There’s much merriment still be had, though most of it has become quite chaotic as people have been at the mead and wine sometime now, the music lagging behind much laughter and louder conversation.

However, even if Moomin had wanted to walk further around the dark trees or even have a sconce around the house, he doesn’t get a chance as he’s accosted every moment it feels.  
  
Eventually, it settles into a debate with Sniff over what constitutes as a suitable name for the cluster of stars to the Northeast Sniff maintains he’s discovered. Moomin, quite sensibly, calls this for the hogwash it is as that cluster is already discovered and called Cassiopeia.

It turns into quite the argument, so much so he forgets entirely that he’s trying to keep one ear out for Snufkin.

Moomin stumbles forward as a very heavy, hot body thumps into him, looking over his shoulder in surprise to see Snufkin’s hat.

Snufkin has his face buried into the back of Moomin’s shoulder, something that feels suspiciously like a bottle sticking into the troll’s back as well.  
  
‘Moomintroll!’ Snufkin says and Moomin turns to find Snufkin isn’t standing all too steady, though the Mumrik beams up at him as though in the best of moods. Though after as much mead as Moomin suspects Snufkin to have had by now, one would be in a very good mood indeed.  
  
‘I thought as much,’ Moomin mumbles to himself as Snufkin waves drunkenly at Sniff behind. ‘Enjoy the mead, did you?’  
  
‘Perhaps,’ Snufkin says mischievously, possibly trying to wink but it comes across as a series of very slow blinks up at Moomin instead. ‘Doing mush bedder now though.’  
  
‘Better than what?’ Moomin asks, giggling now at the way Snufkin slurs his words. It’s so out of character but a drunken Snufkin is something Moomin hasn’t seen for a season or two and despite the strangeness, it is a remarkably funny thing. Snufkin swings his (certainly) empty bottle of mead around with a little moue on his face suddenly.  
  
‘Dish you enjoy your dance?’ he asks, tipping the bottle to his lips and looking most put out when nothing comes of it.  
  
‘Of course I did, and I had rather hoped to get another,’ Moomin laughs, as that is definitely not happening with the way Snufkin is swaying.

Moomin gets an arm around him, aiming for a sensible height just under his shoulder. But Snufkin slumps entirely against him so Moomin has to grip lower, hooking Snufkin around the waist.

‘Never mind though, eh?’  
  
‘I do mind though,’ Snufkin says miserably, his head lolling and knocking his hat askew. Sniff gives Moomin a look of utmost bemusement and Moomin shrugs, unable to explain. ‘I mind very much and it’s so very dreashful.’  
  
‘It’s not all that bad,’ Moomin reassures him, adjusting his grip so Snufkin doesn’t sag quite so much like an overfull bag of flour. It requires two paws. ‘Though I think the party might be over for you, mate. Want me to bring you to your campsite?’  
  
‘We shoush dance again,’ Snufkin says with a firm nod like this is a perfectly reasonable request when someone can’t stand.  
  
‘I thought we’d just decided that we’re not having another dance.’  
  
‘I didn’t mean not having another dance with me!’  
  
Moomin has absolutely no idea what Snufkin means, tutting affectionately; ‘Right. Campsite, let’s go.’  
  
‘Too far!’ Snufkin exclaims, swinging with the bottle wildly. ‘I couldn’t posshibly walk that far!’  
  
He may have a point. Sniff starts laughing now and Moomin can see a few people turning around for a look themselves. He pulls Snufkin closer, turning to hide him slightly behind himself. Snufkin hates to be the centre of attention.

‘All right, then,’ Moonin says gently, rubbing some soothing circles on Snufkin’s back and Snufkin makes a happy, humming sound. ‘Sleepover it is.’  
  
‘Wonderful,’ Snufkin says, burying his face into Moomin’s neck and Moomin fluffs up from it as though shocked. Sniff gives him a funny look which only serves to make it worse, so Moomin starts moving them along, desperate to get away from prying eyes. Not that it’s fair to say they’re prying as Snufkin’s the one behaving… well, _behaving_ in public.  
  
‘Oh dear,’ Mama says gently as Moomin passes herself and Papa making his way to the house.

She reaches over and attempts to straighten Snufkin’s hat- something quite impossible with how clingy Snufkin has suddenly become. Moomin’s half-worried his coat will be matted from where Snufkin holds so tight.

‘Poor little thing, had too much has he?’  
  
‘Don’t know what you mean, he’s right as rain,’ Moomin says sarcastically as Snufkin snickers. ‘It’s weird actually. It’s not very- well, Snufkin of him, I guess.’  
  
‘No one can be expected to be themselves all the time,’ Mama says, giving up on the hat and settling for just patting one of Snufkin’s cheeks. ‘How tired, we’d all be.’  
  
‘He was holding up alright until about an hour ago. To be honest, I thought he’d just slunk off back to his tent.’  
  
‘An hour, you say,’ Papa says quietly, eyes wandering as Mama coos; ‘Found you again though, how good.’  
  
‘Need help getting him upstairs?’ Papa asks, something like a frown on his face and Moomin really hopes his father isn’t still miffed about the mead. Moomin shakes his head, heading in the backdoor through the veranda.  
  
‘Nah, we’ll make it. I’ll be back down once he’s in bed.’  
  
Getting up to said bed is a small adventure, Snufkin being a very small creature really but one who has lost all sense of understanding in how legs work it appears.

Moomin gives up halfway up the stairs, bending low to get an arm under Snufkin’s wobbly knees. He lifts Snufkin into his arms, a swooping bolt of panic for a second where he worries they’ll both topple backwards off the stairs. As it is, they just lose Snufkin's hat.  
  
Snufkin is wide-eyed, staring at Moomin as though just realising he’s there; ‘Wow. You’re a strong troll.’  
  
‘And you’re a very drunk Mumrik.’  
  
‘A very lucky, drunk Mumrik,’ Snufkin replies, giggling to himself. Moomin laughs, too despite himself.  
  
‘You really have no idea how mad you look like right now, do you?’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t answer, wrapping both hands around Moomin’s neck and pressing close. His breath is warm there and Moomin can feel goosepimples prickle all the way down from it. He doesn’t think they’ve ever been this close and while Moomin is certainly not in Snufkin’s batting average for mead drank this evening, Moomin suddenly feels very aware of how not-sober he is.  
  
Would he be thinking about this at all if he were? Moomin doesn't know. He likes to think it’s the mead in his belly, the sound of voices and music outside and the general banter of the evening that has him thinking about how Snufkin feels in his arms like something very good. It really does feel quite good and Moomin realises only after the fact that he’s holding Snufkin much closer to him than he needs to.  
  
He doesn’t do a blessed thing to rectify this until they make it to Moomin’s room, kicking the door open much to Snufkin’s drunken delight. Moomin tries to put Snufkin down gently, but he underestimates the distance between where he’s holding Snufkin and the bed. Has Moomin really gotten that much taller?  
  
Snufkin lands on the bed with a small _flop_ and another snigger.

Snufkin has a laugh that sounds like marbles falling stairs, or rain in a gutter. An up-and-down noise that bounces in Moomin’s ears and Moomin adores it, he truly does. It is so rare, after all, for Snufkin to let himself laugh out loud at anything.  
  
‘My hat…’ Snufkin says, suddenly serious and frowning. He pats at his hair absently. ‘I’ve lost my hat.’  
  
‘Not lost,’ Moomin tells him, leaning down to start undoing Snufkin’s scarf. Best not to have him strangle himself in his sleep. ‘You dropped it outside. I’ll go get it when I’m done.’  
  
‘Have you _-hic-_ you ever fallen into the river by accident?’ Snufkin asks, hiccupping halfway through as Moomin moves down to the bed to start unlacing Snufkin’s boots. Dried dirt crumbles off them and Moomin sighs, laughing quietly.  
  
‘Does anyone ever fall into a river on purpose?’ Moomin asks, shaking off the dirt that coats his fingers after tugging off one of the boots.  
  
‘Ish cold,’ Snufkin says, sounding very sleepy now and Moomin nods in agreement, remembering the unpleasant sensation of it when he’d done that very thing last Spring while waiting for Snufkin to appear. ‘And everywhere. It hurts your lungs and your arms and you sink right down to the bottom.’  
  
Moomin starts working on the other boot, pulling a face to himself as he sees the amount of dirt left on the sheets. ‘It’s definitely not the nicest thing.’  
  
‘Watching you dance with her,’ Snufkin says and Moomin snaps his head up, completely forgetting the boot that’s half-off. ‘It felt like that. Just like that.’  
  
Snufkin’s foot slips from the boot and Moomin stands at end of the bed, dropping the boot with a loud _thud._

‘What…. What does that mean?’  
  
Snufkin rolls over onto his side, curling in on himself like a cat. He buries his face into Moomin’s pillow, the next words he manages barely making it through the feathers and linen.

‘You really are… such a splendid Moomin.’  
  
‘Snufkin?’ Moomin walks up the bed, bending down so he’s almost level with where Snufkin is lying on the pillow. Snufkin’s eyes are closed, face half-hidden and Moomin reaches out without thinking but catches himself before he can touch.  
  
Moomin feels considerably more sober than he had a few moments ago, the force of Snufkin’s words rocking through him like thunder.  
  
‘It is so terribly unfair, really,’ Snufkin mumbles, sounding closer and closer to sleep.  
  
‘What is?’ Moomin asks, desperate to know. But Snufkin doesn’t answer, taking small huffy little breaths as he falls asleep.  
  
Moomin sits back on his heels, reeling. Snufkin could’ve slapped him and it might’ve shocked him less than what’s just happened.  
  
What did all that mean? Was he talking about Snorkmaiden? Moomin couldn’t fathom any possible reason as to why Snufkin would care one way or another if he and Snorkmaiden were dancing. He and Snorkmaiden have danced more than he and Snufkin ever have, Snufkin must’ve seen them do so a million and one times.  
  
But Snufkin had sounded so profoundly sad when he’d said it had felt like the cold and miserable shock of falling into a river.  
  
Moomin thinks he can relate. He rather feels he’s fallen into the deep end of something here himself.  
  
_Could it be-?_  
  
There’s an idea that niggles in the back of Moomin’s mind like a bee sting. He feels it stick into him as he looks at Snufkin’s face, as he realises just how sweet a face it is. Moomin has always thought so but never said. It never seemed like the kind of thing one should say to their best-friend. Even if Moomin has spent a lot of time admiring.  
  
Which is another thing. A rather big thing, really. Moomin has been struggling quite some time to fold this thing into something smaller like a lumpy jumper that won’t fit in the dresser.  
  
Snufkin has just unravelled the whole lot.

Moomin doesn’t want to think Snufkin might be jealous. It feels like too enormous a thing to think about, too significant- like an earthquake that might change the shape of the earth. Like a comet, hurtling towards him and Moomin isn’t ready to face it. If Snufkin is jealous, then that means Moomin will have to think about _why_ he might jealous. And one reason he might be jealous is-  
  
Moomin stands up abruptly, feeling a little unwell. Maybe it’s the mead, maybe it’s something else altogether. But Snufkin is lying in his bed and he’d drank so much because he’d felt bad that Moomin had been dancing with someone else and Moomin thinks he needs air.  
  
Lots of air.  
  
He’s halfway to the kitchen before he starts to calm down a little bit. The panic had hit him so suddenly that Moomin feels like he’s just run from the mountains and back. His heart is frightful in his chest, his head spinning. It’s all so… very sudden.  
  
Snufkin is Snufkin. He is one thing and Moomin is another and together they are friends. Sure, Moomin gets jealous himself when Snufkin is off with someone else in his own way, but not… That is, he doesn’t feel… Or rather tells himself not to feel-  
  
Bugger.  
  
‘It’s not that,’ Moomin tells himself as he walks into the kitchen. ‘It can’t be.’  
  
‘Can’t be what?’  
  
Moomin jumps, surprised to see his father standing up on a chair to get into one of the top cupboards. Moomin flicks his ears, paws twitching as he looks away from his Papa’s curious look.

‘Nothing. No one. What are you doing?’  
  
‘Having a quick check to see if there’s another bottle of mead about,’ Papa says, coming down from the chair empty handed. ‘How is your friend? Safely tucked in?’  
  
Snufkin’s words rattle around in Moomin’s head. He bites at his lip, anxious; ‘Yeah, yeah. He’s asleep actually.’  
  
‘Might be best,’ Papa says with a sigh. ‘Nothing better than to sleep off the worst of it, of course.’  
  
Moomin doesn’t answer that, mind still wandering back up the stairs to where Snufkin is asleep. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice as Papa comes over to him, putting a large hand on Moomin’s shoulder.  
  
‘How about some tea, son? Before we head out to light the bonfire?'  
  
‘I- actually, you know what? Yeah, that sounds like the bees knees right now,’ Moomin says, sagging with the emotion that thunders inside of him.

Papa gives a small pat and lets Moomin sit at the kitchen table as he goes over to boil the kettle. Papa sticks it on the stove, taking down two mugs from the press as it starts to boil. Moomin sits in the quiet, mind reeling back and forth like a fishing line as Papa moves about the kitchen, filling the infuser with tea leaves.

‘Strange creatures. Mumriks,’ Papa says thoughtfully as the kettle starts to whistle. ‘No two alike, or indeed none all that different, now that I think about it.’

‘How’d you figure that?’

‘I knew one once,’ Papa says and Moomin bolts up in his chair. ‘Have I never told you?’

‘No,’ Moomin shakes his head. ‘I was actually beginning to think Snufkin might have- I don’t know. Been the only one.’ 

‘Balderdash, there’s plenty in the world,’ Papa says, laughing. He pours two mugs of water, before dipping in the infuser. ‘In my youth, the adventuring part of my youth, that is, I met one on my travels. We did have a jolly good time of it on that boat, though the storms we faced! Pretty daring tale, if I do say so myself. Did you know the Western Wind is actually one of the more-’

‘Papa,’ Moomin says, impatient. ‘The Mumrik?’

‘I thought you said he was upstairs?’

‘Not Snufkin! The other one! The one from your travels!’

‘Ah, yes! Joxter, he called himself,’ Papa continues, taking out the infuser and reaching for milk. ‘Fine fellow. Odd though, but only so much as a Mumrik is wont to be. Like your Snufkin.’

‘He’s not _my_ Snufkin.’

‘Yes, quite,’ Papa says slowly, turning with a mug in each paw. ‘Actually, that was rather the point I meant to make to begin with.’ 

Papa joins Moomin at the table, setting the mugs down. He clears his throat a few times, eyes darting to Moomin's face and back.

‘I think you should be careful, son. About your friend there. Some decisions are a terrible to crack to unmake, you know.’ 

‘What decisions?’ Moomin asks, snapping to attention defensively but Papa just continues as though he's said nothing. 

‘Mumriks are delightful creatures, at the best of times. Much like a Moomin in that regard,’ says Papa, blowing on his mug.‘But in many more ways they’re really not that close to us at all. It’s less who they are as opposed to what.’

Moomin mulls that over, that dread growing in his stomach: ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, you’d never change your nature if it could be helped but you’d stiff your upper lip and carry on, wouldn’t you?’ Moomin is truly baffled now and it must show as Papa sighs loudly to himself. ‘My point is, you’d never think of going against who you are, but Moomins are adaptable fellows. We can make the best of a new lot, if we have to. Mumriks, however...’

Papa trails off, sounding uncertain.

‘Mumriks really are just a different kettle of fish.’

‘Snufkin is very adaptable,’ Moomin says, feeling like he needs to come to defence of Snufkin in some way. This whole things feels like a _something_ and Moomin can’t even begin to focus on it. His head is still reeling from the other _something._

The something that sets Moomin's heart up like the bonfire. The something that feels like falling in the dark and waking up in a warm bed all at the same terrible time.

‘It’s not a question of finding shelter from the storm or pitching your tent downwind,’ Papa says between sips of tea. ‘Both of which I’m sure Snufkin is very of capable of and more. It’s more who they’ll allow themselves to be, as opposed to what they will do.’

Moomin gives up. He rubs at his face, groaning. ‘Papa, I’m really sorry but I’m just not in the mood tonight for your- riddles and stories.’

Moomin is careful not to say _nonsense_ but it is most definitely what he means.  
  
'If only it were a story,' Papa says darkly, putting his mug down. 'The thing about it is, Joxter got himself into a spot of bother with a lady-friend, you see.’

Moomin frowns, uneasy; ‘Like a falling out?’

‘Quite the opposite,’ Papa says, eyebrows up past his hat. ‘I’d say he was more than taken with her. But when it comes to a Mumrik that matters only so much as which direction the wind blowing matters.’ Papa stops, looking at Moomin strangely. ‘Do you understand what I mean, son?’

‘Not the foggiest’ Moomin says, but that just isn't true. He lies anyway and Papa sighs. 

‘Your mother is so much better at this,’ Papa laments, pinching his nose with a paw. ‘Though of course she’s all for it. Romantic at heart, that Moominmama. You see, Joxter and his lady were happy for a while, but there’s something in a Mumrik that makes them unsuited to marital settlement. Not that either party had mentioned marriage, of course, but even so, the wind changed direction, so to speak. And Joxter had, too.’

Moomin doesn’t like the sound of that at all. It turns his stomach into a tight knot. 

‘He packed up and headed East one morning and never looked back,’ Papa continues. ‘Left her quite alone and while she certainly held him no ill will, I’d say there was a heartbreak of sorts there alright. They don’t mean to and while I’d never ask any of the world’s creatures to be anything but what they are, Mumriks have a tendency to hurt a very particular kind of feeling.’

‘Which feeling?’ Moomin asks quietly but Papa just fixes him a look, strangely serious for his father and Moomin knows exactly which feeling he means. 

‘That’s up to you to decide,’ Papa says gently. ‘I’m just asking you to be careful with your heart, son. Sharing it is a wonderful thing, but a heart broken...’

Papa trails off again and Moomin swallows around the lump in his throat. He thinks about Snufkin upstairs, the shape of him lying so small in the bed and the sound of his voice.

‘Do you think...’ Moomin stops, momentarily afraid of the answer before deciding to plough on. ‘Are you saying you think he loves me?’

Papa doesn’t answer for a while and Moomin feels the shameful disappointment open inside him like a chasm as he takes the silence for a _No._

‘I think that whatever that Mumrik feels for you, he carries it around with him like a very dear treasure,’ Papa says at last and Moomin’s heart stops. ‘As he should. A Moomin’s love is no small a thing. But I am worried about you, son.’

‘But why?’ Moomin asks, implores really as there’s a fight inside of him all of a sudden. Papa scratches at his ear, uncomfortable again. ‘Snufkin’s my friend. He wouldn’t hurt me.’

‘Not on purpose, no,’ Papa says. ‘But tell me, what would you do if next Spring, he doesn’t come back?’ 

‘He will.’  
  
‘But if he didn’t?’  
  
Moomin goes quiet. He knows, and judging by Papa’s face, Papa knows, too. It’s a very strange place to be, Moomin realises- to have his feelings be seen so clearly. 

An enormous weight of self-conciousness collapses on top of him and Moomin puts his snout in his paws. Can Snufkin see it, too? Oh, Moomin doesn't know what to think of that. He pushes it from his mind like letting go of something scalding.   
  
'Losing a friend is one of the more unpleasant things that can happen to us,' Papa says, reaching over to awkwardly pat at Moomin's shoulder. 'I've had my share of it, goodness knows. But to lose a love is something I couldn't bear for you. I couldn't even imagine it, if I am to be honest. Moominmama and I are lucky that we've never had to know such a thing.'

'We don't- I mean, we're even _like that,'_ Moomin says because at the end of the day, it's true. He looks at Papa through his fingers. 'Don't you think this is a bit- I don't know, like it came from out of the blue?'  
  
'These things tend to go that. Not at all, then all at once.'  
  
'But this doesn't make any sense!' Moomin cries, tea completely forgotten now. 'Snufkin's not like that. He's not the kind of- I mean, he's just not... Things like this don't happen to Snufkin.'  
  
Papa frowns. 'Who says?'  
  
'He does!' Moomin retorts before backtracking. 'Well, he doesn't _say_ it, exactly. It's more in what he doesn’t say, if you know what I mean.'  
  
It sounds remarkably pathetic when said like that, but Moomin knows he's right even if everything on Papa's face says he isn't believed. Moomin shakes his head, wishing he hadn't drank so much. Wishing for many things, really.   
  
'I don't know what you think you see here, but it's not that.' Moomin blinks quickly, embarrassed by the sting in his eyes. 'We couldn't actually be further from that.'  
  
'I think you may be a lot closer to it than you think. I'm just asking you to watch your step, if you can help it,' Papa says to that, before finishing off his tea. He stands up, clearing his throat. 'Right then. I better get cracking on that bonfire or this Bealtaine won't have been worth the hassle. Coming along?'  
  
Moomin shakes his head and Papa doesn't question any further. He pats Moomin between the ears before leaving.   
  
Alone, Moomin sits at the kitchen table and wonders what strange dream he's falling into. Or nightmare, even. Because surely none of this can be real. What Papa said- _what Snufkin said-_ can't possibly be what it appears. Moomin can't believe it and more importantly, he can't let himself believe it. Some disappointments are just too heavy a burden and if Moomin can avoid picking them up at all, then he will.   
  
But...  
  
_But...  
  
_Moomin leaves the kitchen and stops at the end of the stairs, picking up Snufkin's hat from where it'd fallen earlier. He holds it in his paws, touches the frayed edges and where the green fabric has scruffed away in places. It smells like Snufkin and Moomin realises that the feeling he's been ignoring, the one that's been sitting inside of him like a weed since Winter, has possibly grown over the garden. So to speak.   
  
How many times, over the seasons, has Moomin seen this hat and smelled this smell and thought-  
  
And thought...  
  
'Bugger,' Moomin says again to himself and the house and whomever may be listening as he realises.   
  
Suddenly, it makes sense. And Snufkin is quite right. It feels exactly like sinking to the bottom of the river, like a heavy, black stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my head they're dancing to 'swallowtail jig', (for thematic reasons, of course)- a solid reel in my humble opinion and probably completely unsuited to mr beveridge's maggot but hey what you gonna do? they can just dance very, very quickly


	6. Chapter 6

Snufkin is woken by the alarming sound of glass breaking.   
  
He sits bolt upright in the bed, heart pounding and his whole body buzzing with fright. It only gets worse when he looks around, not sure where he is or why he’s here. He looks over the side of the bed he’s in to see someone very little and very colourful sitting on the bedside locker.  
  
Little My is swinging her small feet from where she’s sitting, looking down over the locker at the floor. Snufkin puts a hand on his chest, feeling the fierce thudding there himself as he gets his bearings. Unfortunately, just as he manages to get a hold on them, his hangover takes a grip of him right back.  
  
‘Oh.’ Snufkin flops back down onto Moomintroll’s bed as his head spins, stomach rolling violently for the fun that’s in it as well. ‘Oh, _dear.’  
  
_‘Oh dear, indeed,’ Little My says, kicking the back of her ankles into the locker to make an unpleasant _thumping_ noise that goes right through Snufkin’s head in the most unwelcome fashion. ‘I’m assuming that was your bottle of mead I’ve just knocked over. Your empty bottle, mind.’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t answer, or rather can’t because that would require talking which is far too big a request of him right now.  
  
‘There are easier ways to get into a trolls bed than drinking enough to put the Muddler to shame, you know.’  
  
Snufkin makes an alarmingly high pitched noise that only serves to ring in his own ears than discourage Little My from where she witters on about things she most definitely doesn’t understand.   
  
‘You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?’ Little My asks and Snufkin has to think very hard about that as his thoughts right now feel like they’ve been stung by a hundred unhappy Hattifatteners. Eventually, he manages to shake his head and Little My huffs. ‘Good. I know I told you to have fun, but that was when I thought you wouldn’t go having more than me.’  
  
‘How did I get here?’ Snufkin asks from where he’s trying to suffocate himself into Moomintroll’s pillows to end his misery. He wishes he was in his tent; it’s too early for company, too dark in this room with the shutters closed and Snufkin wants his bright tent, the nice stream and fresh air. It's like a cave in here.  
  
‘Moomintroll carried your drunk, stumbling arse up the stairs just before the bonfire.’  
  
‘Moomintroll…’   
  
Suddenly, the memory of last night slaps Snufkin like a clap of thunder and all happy thoughts of his tent go out the window.  
  
‘Oh no. Oh, _no!’  
  
_Snufkin sits up, head spinning again and for a terrible second, he thinks he may be ill but it passes off. That sinking, horrid feeling in his stomach isn’t the mead. Or rather, not _just_ the mead. No, no- it’s dread. Great, black and drowning dread as Snufkin remembers dancing with Moomintroll, then Moomintroll carrying him. He remembers Moomintroll putting him to bed and... absolutely nothing else.   
  
They had been talking, Snufkin knows that much because they are always talking when together. Moomintroll just can’t seem to help talking really but Snufkin doesn’t remember what was said. Not remembering what was said is infinitely worse than recalling something bad, Snufkin decides.  
  
‘What have you done?’ Little My asks, strangely cautious. Snufkin runs a hand over his face, into his hair and tries desperately to remember.   
  
‘Nothing! Well, maybe nothing.’  
  
_‘Maybe?_ You’re not sure?’  
  
Snufkin shakes his head slowly. ‘We were talking.’  
  
‘Moomintroll’s always talking. Never shuts up, really.’  
  
‘No, no. We were talking about… the dancing, I think?’  
  
‘Dancing? Which dancing-?‘ Little My goes quiet suddenly. She leaps to feet, standing on the locker and expression going stormy. ‘Ohh, you’ve gone and done it now, haven’t you?’  
  
Snufkin jumps from where she punches him in the arm, as far up as she can reach.   
  
‘If you told him it was me that put you up to it, I swear you’ll wish this hangover kills you!’  
  
‘What? No, of course I didn’t!’ Snufkin says, batting her away and groaning as his stomach turns again. ‘What would it matter if I had though?’  
  
‘Never you mind. So what about the dancing did you say?’  
  
‘I don’t remember, I really don't…’ Snufkin says, before he trails off. It’s so frustratingly blank and it hurts to even think about it. Oh, he’s never drinking another wretched drop again. What had he even done it for in the first place? ‘How embarrassing.’  
  
‘Exceptionally,’ Little My agrees, still eying Snufkin with an acerbic glance. ‘If you’re not in any immediate danger of gawking half the night back up that miserable throat of yours, I’d recommend getting that glass tidied before Moomintroll comes in to check you haven’t died in your sleep.’  
  
Snufkin can think of absolutely nothing more loathsome than moving from this comfortable bed at a time like this, but Little My is right and she is certainly not going to do it herself. It takes longer than is proper to drag himself up, wincing as everything inside of him protests about the movement. But he manages, careful not to step in the glass without his boots. Moomintroll must’ve taken them off.   
  
The bottle broke into large pieces, big enough for Snufkin to be able to pick them up without injury. He’s careful with the smaller slivers, warning Little My softly where he puts them on the locker for the moment. He bends lower, making a weak moan as his head throbs. He lays there for a second, getting his bearings before looking under the bed.   
  
There are two or three pieces under there and even reaching that short distance is a chore. Snufkin takes them one by one, noticing as he reaches for the last that one of the floorboards is coming up.   
  
Snufkin carefully puts the broken glass in a small pile on the locker, Little My having moved to the bed and then Snufkin bends back down.  
  
‘Haven’t you gotten all of it yet?’  
  
‘The floorboard is coming up,’ Snufkin says, sitting back and realising he’ll have to move the bed. Most unfortunate, as Snufkin can barely hold himself up never mind move that thing. ‘I’ll have to fix it.’  
  
‘The floorboard?’ Little My says, before she hops down from the bed at an unholy speed. ‘Let me see!’  
  
‘Wait-‘  
  
Too late. Little My scurries under the bed, perfectly sized to stand almost to her full height there. She gets her small hands on where the floorboard is coming up, but instead of pushing it back down where it should be, she yanks it further up. Snufkin bursts into action, shoving the bed over and instantly regretting it as he nearly wretches from the effort.  
  
‘Aha, I knew it!’ Little My says, triumphant and she pops the floorboard up to get at what’s hidden underneath.  
  
Snufkin blinks and sinks low to the floor, eyes watering as he makes out that it appears to be a small book of some kind. ‘What is that?’  
  
‘What I’ve been looking for,’ Little My says, clearly delighted. She pushes the floorboard back as though it has never been up. ‘Turns out you’re not completely useless today.’  
  
‘Does that belong to you?’ Snufkin asks and Little My gives him a flat look. Silly question. Snufkin sighs; ‘I can’t let you take Moomintroll’s things.’  
  
‘What makes you think this isn’t my thing?’  
  
‘You’d never been this interested in something you’re allowed to have. Now give it to me.’  
  
‘I will do no such thing,’ Little My says, holding the book tight to her chest and Snufkin considers what to do next. He’s not in the position to chase her, should he need to. Little My smirks at him. ‘How about this- you keep this a secret, and I’ll keep your thing a secret.’  
  
Snufkin’s heart stops. ‘You weren’t going to tell my secret anyway.’  
  
‘No, but I’d be feeling a lot less generous about that if you're going to run off and tell that furry nit about this,’ Little My says, shaking the small book as she does so. ‘What do you say, got a deal?’  
  
Like Snufkin has any semblance of a choice.   
  
Little My at least helps him put the bed back, the book tucked safely under her dress so Snufkin doesn’t even have the opportunity to sneak it off her. She waves him goodbye after, cheery as anything as she walks out into the upstairs hall, looking one way and then the other.   
  
Out there, she stops and grins back in wickedly at Snufkin.   
  
‘Oh, Snufkin! You silly thing, you’ve gone and broken all that glass! I do hope you haven’t hurt yourself!’  
  
Before Snufkin can argue against any of that, Moomintroll suddenly appears in the door, clearly panicked; ‘Snufkin!’  
  
‘Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says miserably, unable to even get up and say _hello_ properly as he’s just so very sore all over. He stays on the floor and Moomintroll walks in, dark eyes looking along it for bits of glass Snufkin may have missed.  
  
'Are you hurt?'  
  
Snufkin shakes his head, before groaning from where it throbs in protest of such movement. Snufkin takes a deep breath, trying to be cheery; ‘How’re you?’  
  
‘Better than you, I think,’ Moomintroll says and he stops before Snufkin, looking down at him with a very odd expression on his face. That dread is back and it feels like a rope in Snufkin’s chest. ‘You should still be in bed.’  
  
‘Don’t be daft,’ Snufkin says, forcing himself to stand and swaying instantly. There’s suddenly an itch in his skin on seeing Moomintroll, a nervous buzz as Snufkin thinks too much, too quickly about how much he’d drank the night before. What he might’ve said, or who he might’ve said it to- oh, it’s far too much.   
  
Snufkin wants his tent. He wants the quiet, wants to fish and he wants to possibly throw up in some bushes where no one can see like a respectable vagabond.  
  
Moomintroll reaches out quickly, steadying Snufkin with both paws. Once done though, Moomintroll retreats as though burned. It’s out of character and Snufkin’s anxious thoughts shudder to a halt.   
  
‘I’m… perfectly well. Just a bit off-colour, I think,’ he says carefully, unsure of himself which is an unusual feeling.  
  
‘To put it mildly,’ Moomintroll says in a strange tone, pointing a finger to Snufkin’s face. ‘You’re still quite pale. I think you should sleep longer.’  
  
‘Nonsense,’ Snufkin says, waving him off, Moomintroll’s distance making him all the more eager to get away. ‘I’ll take my things and I think I shall fish for breakfast.’  
  
Moomintroll sags a little and it takes Snufkin a moment to recognise relief. ‘Sure thing, I’ll get your hat for you. It’s downstairs.’  
  
And with that, Moomintroll turns and leaves. Snufkin teeters in his socks a little, wrong-footed. He’d expected a fight, the usual argument that he simply must stay longer. But Moomintroll hasn’t made it and instead gone to give Snufkin exactly what he’s asked for. It doesn’t feel as easily good as Snufkin would’ve thought.  
  
Moomintroll returns shortly after with Snufkin’s hat, handing it over as he points to where he’s placed Snufkin’s boots and scarf before leaving again just as quick. Snufkin can’t help but feel that Moomintroll can’t get out of the room fast enough.  
  
Snufkin sits on the bed, struggling to get his boots back on. He thinks about the night before. Yes, alright- he may have drunk more than is respectable, but he’d not indulged any more than he might have at previous parties. Certainly less than what he and Moomintroll have done once or twice during late nights watching stars with wine pilfered from the pantry.   
  
Though it has been a while… Longer than Snufkin had thought, now he stops to consider it. Snufkin has been finding excuse after excuse to avoid too much lately. It was becoming that little bit more difficult with each season to hide a truth, Snufkin has found, and wine or mead or any other forsaken drink doesn’t help with it.   
  
At that, Snufkin’s blood goes cold.   
  
No. Surely not. He couldn’t have- could he?   
  
Snufkin groans, tying his laces too tight as he grits his teeth and mind running away from him too quick for sense.  
  
He can’t have said it. Snufkin can barely think it, never mind give words to it and once he remembers that, Snufkin puts it from his mind. It must be something else. Something else he said or did that has Moomintroll this way. Maybe Moomintroll is simply embarrassed for him? Snufkin couldn’t blame the troll for that.   
  
But even so, Moomintroll is not the kind to judge Snufkin. Others, oh yes, probably. Moomintroll has on occasion shown quite a sharp tongue, but never to Snufkin. In fact, despite any harsh words Moomintroll may share, he tends to be fiercely protective over his friends like Snufkin and-  
  
‘Snorkmaiden!’ Snufkin says, jumping with the realisation.   
  
Snorkmaiden had been there last night and Snufkin remembers now how utterly hollow he’d felt at seeing her and Moomintroll together and how quickly he’d gone to fill that empty feeling with as much mead as possible. _That’s what I've done,_ Snufkin thinks with horrible clarity. He’d been jealous, that much he can at least admit, and knowing himself he went and took it out on Snorkmaiden in some fashion or another.  
  
Snufkin doesn’t remember but it must be true, after all, what else could it possibly be?  
  
Booted and scarf tied, Snufkin replaces his hat and considers what to do next. Snorkmaiden and her brother likely stayed here in Moominhouse, they are probably downstairs with Moomintroll and the others for breakfast. He could simply go downstairs, apologise to everyone for his behaviour and maybe share a coffee before leaving for the day.  
  
But then Snufkin thinks of Moomintroll and how awkward he’d been, how quickly he’d wanted to be out of Snufkin’s company and that idea dies down like a weak flame.   
  
Moomintroll is angry. Snufkin can’t blame him though he may not remember the exact specifics of the crime. But Snufkin knows the importance of wanting one’s space when in need of it and if he can do that at least for Moomintroll, he will. Decision made, Snufkin goes over to the window and opens the shutters, unhooking the ladder.  
  
Snufkin will go and when Moomintroll is ready, he will come to him. It’s their pattern after all, just… in the opposite direction for a change.  
  
By the time he makes it down to the grass, Snufkin is already feeling better. He hadn’t realised how stifling that house can be sometimes, with its smells and colours and sturdy wooden walls. How much better to be here, in the air and alone.   
  
He still feels this way, even after making it back to his tent and doubly so on the latter after he violently reacquaints himself with the mead into the nearest unfortunate bundle of wild garlic.

*/

Moomin needs help.  
  
He’s restless through breakfast. When it becomes obvious Snufkin isn’t coming down, Moomin realises he must’ve left through the window and feeling shamed for it, is relieved all the same. Moomin isn’t sure how to be normal around him right now. But hopefully it won’t be for much longer.   
  
Snorkmaiden and Snork are great company this morning, chatting happily with both Mama and Papa. Even Little My seems unusually chipper, swinging in to steal a slice or two of toast before moseying out again and whistling to herself as she goes. But Moomin can’t manage more than a few small hums to people’s questions, waiting for everyone to leave so he might get the chance to talk to Mama alone.  
  
He's too impatient and when Mama announces that she’s going to make another pot of tea, Moomin leaps from his seat and offers to help her. Mama gives him blithe smile and tells him that’s lovely, asking him to follow her to the kitchen.  
  
Once there, Mama fills the kettle as Moomin struggles to think of how best to ask for what he needs. As he mulls it over, Mama reaches up to the bookshelf for Granny’s book of cures.   
  
‘Now, dear,’ Mama says, sitting at the table. Moomin looks at the kettle so it’s on a very, very low flame. It’ll take an age to boil at that rate and not for the first time, Moomin realises just how clever his mother can be. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter and we can see what Granny and I can come up with. I doubt it’s a case for hair of the dog.’  
  
Moomin opens his mouth, closes it and goes over to close the kitchen door. Mama just raises an eyebrow, a talent she and Snufkin share and one Moomin has always been jealous of.  
  
‘My, my. This must be quite serious.’  
  
‘It is,’ Moomin says solemnly, sitting at the table. ‘Very serious and very urgent. I need a cure for liking someone.’  
  
Mama blinks, clearly surprised. ‘Goodness. Why would you want a cure for that?’  
  
‘It’s… complicated?’ Moomin settles on, though he’s still not sure that best sums up what he’s gotten himself into.  
  
‘It must be. And also quite sad, I would think.’  
  
Moomin doesn’t know what to say about that. The truth of it is that it’s so wretched Moomin hasn’t slept all night. He’d tossed and turned on the couch, pretending to sleep when someone from the party would call in on him. Hours he’d spent, even long after the bonfire had gone out, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Snufkin.  
  
Thinking about the whole sodding mess.  
  
‘I’m not sure it’s possible to simply turn off someone’s feelings like that,’ Mama says thoughtfully, turning a few pages of Granny’s book. ‘Liking someone is such a dreadfully involved process, after all.’  
  
‘Right. But I mean a cure for _really_ liking someone though, not just normal like,’ Moomin explains further. ‘A cure for when you might possibly- kind of- potentially…. Fancy them.’  
  
‘You want a cure for love?’ Mama says, sounding dubious.  
  
‘No, no!’ Moomin waves his paws manically. ‘Not love, it’s not love! Just to the left of it, maybe.’  
  
Mama considers this with a frown. 'Moomintroll, dear, can you tell me why you need such a thing?'  
  
'Or maybe the cure for a love spell?’ Moomin suggests, avoiding the question but it only seems to perplex Mama further. Moomin sighs. 'I just want to know if there's a way stop fancying someone.'  
  
'There are many ways,' Mama says, closing the book. Never a good sign. 'But not in here. And I don't think I've ever seen a love spell, so I wouldn't know where to start. Maybe it's like how to get an elephant out of a room.'  
  
'How do you do that?'  
  
'Peanuts,' Mama says, moving her frown down to the book now. 

‘I don’t think that’s going to work,’ Moomin says, frustrated. He drums his fingers on the table, thinking it all over. ‘Might try my arm at it anyway though. Kind of willing to try anything.’ 

‘Is there someone you want to not like anymore that urgently?’ Mama asks seriously and Moomin keeps his gaze fixed at the slowly boiling kettle. ‘Usually one doesn’t decide to dislike someone in advance, you know. It’s one of those unfortunate things that tends to happen without notice. I’m afraid I don’t even know how to start thinking of something for you.’

‘It’s not for me,’ Moomin says quietly. 

Mama is silent for a long time. Some steam is starting to rise from the kettle now. 

‘You want something that will make someone stop liking someone else?’ Mama asks and Moomin nods his head. Mama smiles then and Moomin stares at her, confused. ‘We can’t control how people feel, Moomin. The best we can do is hope that even if someone we admire likes someone else, they’ll still hold somewhere special for us, too.’

Mama stands up, taking the book with her and giving Moomin a kind look.

‘Though I really don’t think you have to worry about Snufkin liking anyone more than you,’ Mama says and Moomin sucks a breath in top quickly, coughing over it. 

‘That’s- I didn’t even say!’ Moomin splutters, eternally baffled with how Mama always seems to know what he’s thinking. Unlike with Snufkin, Moomin knows for certain she does but it’s no less unnerving. Moomin groans, rubbing the end of his nose in frustration. ‘Anyway, it’s not like _that._ Why do people keep saying that?’

‘Perhaps for the same reason people always point out how lovely the sunset is, even though it happens every day.’ 

When Moomin gives Mama a look of flat bemusement, she sighs. 

‘Because it’s obvious, dear.’   
  
‘To everyone but me all of a sudden,’ Moomin says, feeling quite sorry for himself. ‘But I’m stuck looking at what no one else can see either, so I guess it balances out.’  
  
Mama pauses in putting Granny’s book back on the shelf. ‘Moomintroll?’  
  
‘I’m going out today,’ Moomin says, making a decision. ‘Not entirely sure when I’ll be back.’  
  
Mama doesn’t question him. She never does and Moomin is grateful. So grateful, he stops himself for a moment to run back and hug her quickly. She gives him a tight squeeze back, holding tighter when he tries to leave. When she speaks, her voice is low in his ear as though telling a secret.

‘We must be careful what we wish for, dear. You might miss what you’re afraid to take once it’s no longer on offer.’

*/

She hears him before he even knows she’s there to listen. Which is typical, really.  
  
‘A Moomin?’ Too-Ticky says, popping up from underneath some shrubbery. ‘What are ye doing all the way out here?’  
  
Moomin tries to regain his balance from where he’s fallen backwards onto one of the bushes after the fright she gave him, jumping out like that. He’s at the base of the Northern mountain, off the paths and to be honest, he was sure he’d get himself lost before he found her. But it turns out the Mymble’s daughter knew exactly what she was saying when she’d told Moomin to try out here in the heather bushes.  
  
‘Looking for you, actually,’ Moomin says, wincing as he yanks on a stray twig that’s gotten snared in his fur. ‘You’re not busy, are you?’  
  
Too-Ticky looks at him, then down at the bundle of black heather branches in her hands. There are leaves stuck to her jumper and dark dirt on her hands. She eyes him again.  
  
‘I cannae be busy. What’d ye need, sonny?’  
  
‘Advice,’ Moomin says and Too-Ticky doesn’t say anything. She simply gives him more look over, before nodding her head firmly. Moon watches the bobble on her hat bounce with the motion.  
  
‘Come away with me, then. We’ll stick the kettle on.’  
  
Moomin thinks he’s going to drown in tea before this whole thing is over, but he follows her anyway.  
  
They walk a long while, uphill and Moomin wonders just how far up the mountain they’ll be going. Too-Ticky doesn’t chat. She’s like Snufkin that way, seemingly perfectly happy to let someone else do the conversation for them. But Moomin can barely keep his breath as it is, so she’ll have to do without.  
  
Finally, Too-Ticky turns off to the left and through the trees, Moomin sees a small cabin. It’s a little bigger than the bathhouse, but not nearly as nice. Not that he’d say that, even if he had the breath, of course. Shorter, but wider, the cabin is a little like a shoe-box.  
  
Too-Ticky puts the branches down at the door, opening it for Moomin to walk in ahead of her. Inside, she lights the stove in the middle of the room and waits for the fire to take.  
  
‘Ye must be in need of serious help, aye?’ Too-Ticky says as she pokes the turf. Moomin wonders where she gets it. It smells so different to firewood. ‘Comin all way out here.’  
  
‘I am, actually. I can’t ask anyone else, they wouldn’t- or they don’t understand. It all makes sense to them and I guess it would,’ Moomin says, tripping over himself because by his tail, where does he even start?  
  
Too-Ticky doesn’t seem intent on rushing him. She closes the grid of the stove, placing a small tin kettle on top. She also holds over a small plate of biscuits, one of which Moomin takes gratefully. ‘I cannae say I’ll be any better. But if ye’ve come this far, I’m willing to try and help annae I can.’  


‘I think I’ve cursed Snufkin,’ Moomin blurts out and Too-Ticky stops mid-way to a bite of her biscuit. Slowly, she lowers it and meets Moomin’s eye with much obvious skepticism.

‘Okay, laddie. Try me again.’

‘It all started when he got back from his Winter adventures!’ Moomin starts desperately. ‘Or maybe... well, it started for me before that. Before Winter, really.’ 

Too-Ticky hums. ‘Would this have annae to do with yer waking up early?’

‘No,’ Moomin says before he thinks about it. ‘Yes? Oh, I don’t know. It’s so hard to explain how we got here.’

‘Spin the yarn from the beginning then,’ Too-Ticky says gently. ‘Snufkin is that Mumrik lad, right? The one with the hat?’  
  
‘Yeah,’ Moomin says, so unbearably fond. And it is; unbearable. ‘That’s him.’  
  
‘I thought ye two were friends. Like peas in a pod.’  
  
‘We are friends! That’s part of the problem, actually,’ Moomin says and he puts his biscuit back on the plate, appetite going as the misery that’s plagued him all night returns. ‘If he knew… Oh, if he knew what I’ve done, I don’t think he’ll be my friend much longer.’  
  
‘Friendships can be sturdy things,’ Too-Ticky says, snapping a bite of her biscuit as the fire starts to crackle and the kettle spit. ‘Ye’d be amazed what they can stand.’  
  
‘I think I would,’ Moomin says honestly, watching the fire through the grate. ‘I had been thinking about something for a while but I just couldn’t work up the courage to say it aloud. I went to Papa about it after Hibernation, kind of... Well, no. I didn’t tell him anything but I did ask him about his adventures, when he was younger. I didn’t want to say what was on my mind because what if it came to nothing?’ 

Too-Ticky waves her biscuit to say go on.

‘Then he told me this story about a Nisse who cast a curse by accident,’ Moomin continues. ‘And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not even the magic part itself, but the doing something that important without noticing part. Because that’s how I felt. Only now, I think I’ve gone and done the magic bit anyway.’ 

Too-Ticky twists her mouth sympathetically; ‘I’m afraid ye’ve lost me a wee bit.’

‘I wanted to go with Snufkin in the Winter,’ Moomin says and winces. It’s the first time he said it to anyone, even aloud to himself. ‘I wanted to go so badly, wanted _him_ to want me to go and it just hit me so suddenly. I’d never thought of it before and it was like I’d picked the idea up from nowhere. But I did want to all the same. Now I’m worried I’ve gone and wanted so much, I’ve done something else entirely.’ 

Moomin takes a long, deep breath. 

‘I think I’ve cursed Snufkin to want me as badly as I want him,’ Moomin says and he laughs, because goodness- how pathetic a creature he is. ‘I know him better than anyone. And things have been different since he got back. Since I started thinking about adventures and magic, and I think my thinking about the magic has gone and cast a bit of it by mistake.’

‘What makes ye think it has to be a curse?’ Too-Ticky asks, sounding curious. Moomin rubs at his neck, so deeply uncomfortable.

‘Like I said,’ Moomin says sadly, but he smiles anyway at his own ridiculousness. ‘I know him. He’s not like that. Even Papa says it’s not a Mumrik’s nature to... to be the way he’s being. And even if he was- which, like I said, he isn’t- he wouldn’t want me.’ 

‘Why not?’

‘What Snufkin would want a Moomin when he could want anything else in the world?’  
  
Too-Ticky seems to think about that for a second before answering; ‘Did yer Papa say that?’  
  
‘No, but he didn’t have to,’ Moomin says, feeling so very weary all of a sudden. ‘I know my friend. And I know that of all the adventures he’s gone on, he’s hardly going to settle for one as boring as… well, me.’

‘Seems like yer making a lot of decisions for Snufkin anyway, curse or no curse,’ Too-Ticky says primly and Moomin groans, dragging a paw over his face.

‘It’s not a decision, that’s my whole point!’ Moomin says desperately. ‘I didn’t mean to make him this way, but I must’ve done! He’s never wanted me before.’

‘What makes ye sure he wants you now?’

‘It’s something-‘ Moomin stops himself, embarrassed but also slightly afraid to say. ‘It’s something about the way he looks at me. The way I catch him looking, the way I feel when he’s close to me. It’s not normal. Not like it was before and I can’t think how he could be so terribly different unless something made him so.’

‘And the something must be magic?’ Too-Ticky asks and Moomin nods sadly, eyes down because he just can’t face it. 

‘It has to be,’ he says quietly. ‘Only magic could make Snufkin think...’

That’s all he can manage to say and Moomin settles his snout in his paws, profoundly miserable. Moomin doesn’t think he’s ever been this way over anything before. But then again, Moomin has never been on the threshold of losing something before.  
  
And he will, it’s the only outcome. Once Snufkin realises what’s happened, what Moomin has done, he’ll run. And how could Moomin ask him otherwise, after being so cruel as to curse him in the first place.

Even if by accident.  
  
‘What about ye?’ Too-Ticky asks, taking the kettle off the stove and walking over to the table for the pot. ‘How do ye feel about Snufkin?’  
  
Moomin fluffs up all the way down to his toes and desperately tries to get a grip of himself before Too-Ticky finishes with the tea. ‘I- I don’t know! It’s all a bit muddled up right now.’  
  
‘Well, I’ll make it easy for ye then,’ Too-Ticky says, coming back over with a laden tea tray. ‘Do ye love him, yes or no?’  
  
‘That’s not an easy question!’ Moomin snaps, mortified. Too-Ticky ignores him, pouring two cups of tea.  
  
‘All right,’ she says, sitting back with her cup. She watches him over the rim of it, grey eyes like sea-foam. ‘Why did ye want to go with him in the Winter? Did ye just want to get away from Moominvalley?’  
  
The idea of leaving the valley makes Moomin’s stomach flip like he’s missed a step in the dark. ‘No, not really. It wasn’t about leaving here.’  
  
‘Was it about leaving with Snufkin?’

‘It wasn’t about leaving at all.’

‘Then it was about being with Snufkin,’ Too-Ticky suggests and Moomin can’t deny it. ‘Either here or wherever he decides to go a wandering. So that’s one thing sorted. Ye want to be with him, and ye don’t much care where that being be.’  
  
‘Okay, yes! Maybe!’ Moomin says, incredibly embarrassed at how Too-Ticky has just laid all his complicated feelings out so plainly. They seem so simple when spread out like that when they’re anything but. ‘But surely you don’t just decide one day you want to run off with your friend, do you?’  
  
‘No, decisions like that rarely happen all of a sudden,’ Too-Ticky agrees, sipping her tea. ‘But love has a way of sneaking up on ye. Ye can be in love for years and never know it.’  
  
Moomin stalls entirely at that. ‘Y-years..?’  
  
Too-Ticky hums. ‘Aye. That’s what makes it so very clever, really. It’s feels as natural as anything.’  
  
‘I can’t see how anything about this magic feels natural,’ Moomin sighs, thinking about his poor heart and the way his paws twitch to be nearer when Snufkin is close.

‘Well,’ Too-Ticky says, putting her cup down. ‘First things first, love isn’t a magic, Moomintroll.’  


‘What? Course it is,’ Moomin says, frowning up at her. ‘There’s always love in magic.’ 

‘I dinnae say that, I said love isn’t magic,’ Too-Ticky corrects gently. ‘Which means you cannae force it, by curse or spell or even by wish. Not with all the new moons in the year together. It happens or it doesn’t, and while love can be an ingredient in many different kinds of magic, it cannae be made by magic. It’s one of the laws.’  
  
‘But…’ Moomin suddenly feels like the world has dropped out from under him and he’s falling very fast into a deep unknown. ‘But that doesn’t make any sense.’  
  
'Why not?'  
  
'Because Snufkin can't just- I mean, he's not just waking up one day and deciding he...' Moomin can't even say it. He gestures awkwardly and Too-Ticky nods, showing she understands what he's too afraid to say. 'It's all so sudden.'  
  
'Do ye really think this has just happened, or do ye think maybe yer only seeing it now?' Too-Ticky suggests and Moomins mulls that over. 'It's much easier to see love when we're in it, sonny.'  
  
'It just doesn't make sense,' Moomin repeats firmly, shutting the bubbling hope that bursts inside him down quickly.   
  
‘Are ye saying it's not even a wee bit possible that whatever ye feel for Snufkin, he might just feel it for ye, too?’  
  
‘He can’t do,’ Moomin says but now he isn’t that sure. He’s thought about what Papa had said, what Snufkin had said. That faraway look on Snufkin’s face, the way it feels to be close to him… Moomin had been so sure that he had to have made up it all up himself. Quite literally.   
  
‘I know how easy life would be if the people we fell in love with loved us back just for that,’ Too-Ticky says, reaching for another biscuit. ‘But that’s not how it works. So just think about how special it is for two creatures to fall in love at the same time! That’s when love is at its most powerful, ye know.’  
  
‘So, when Snufkin called me splendid,’ Moomin says, mind wandering to the night before. ‘You think he really meant it?’  
  
Too-Ticky shrugs, having not been there for that and Moomin supposes that’s fair. But it all seems so ridiculous. So very impossible.  
  
Snufkin is _Snufkin,_ after all. How could Moomin have ever thought, ever imagined, that if Snufkin were to feel such a thing, he’d feel it for Moomin?  
  
‘Of course, there is a problem if ye realise don’t love him,’ Too-Ticky says baldly and Moomin shoots right back to the present, staring at her with his mouth open. ‘Ye might want to figure that bit out next.’  
  
‘What if I have? Just now?’ Moomin asks and Too-Ticky smiles, eyes closed and looking rather like the cat that’s just got the cream.  
  
‘Then I think it was worth coming out all this way.’  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moomintroll.exe has recognised an (emotion)  
> also little my has found chekov's gun and she intends to _fire_
> 
> today's addition to the playlist is _love, love, love_ by of monsters and men


	7. Chapter 7

Something is wrong.  
  
Snufkin gets out of his tent and frowns over the top of it to the North. The wind is strong; stronger than it should be in the middle of May. He can see it bringing clouds over the trees, over the furtherest peak of the Lonely Mountains.

Surely too late in Spring for rain that cold. Snufkin ties his scarf, uneasy. Much too late, and more worryingly, too early.  
  
Snufkin turns his back on it, putting his hat on his head and deciding that he might follow the river East for a change, past Moominhouse and around the Lonely Mountains altogether. If the wind is persistent, at least he won’t feel it from there.  
  
Decision made, Snufkin starts to get his things together for a day’s adventuring. He’s just finished when a shadow passes over his camp. He looks up to see the great fluffy belly of Moomintroll and Snufkin opens his mouth to say something, only to find he doesn’t actually know what he might say.  
  
He hasn’t seen Moomintroll in a few days. He hasn’t come looking for Snufkin and Snufkin was hardly going to push in if not wanted. Better to err on the side of caution and wait for a moment precisely like this, he’d thought.  
  
Well, the moment has come it seems.  
  
‘Moomintroll.’  
  
‘Snufkin.’  
  
Normally Moomintroll has more to say than that, but he doesn’t speak again. Snufkin keeps his eyes fixed on his pack, tightening the straps as he tries to think of what he might say himself. Unfortunately, all that comes to mind is some semblance of an apology for Bealtaine night but Snufkin can’t bear to relive it.  
  
So, quiet it is.  
  
Snufkin stands and rolls his pack on his back, finally looking at Moomintroll to see the troll isn’t even facing him. Instead, Moomintroll is gazing North up the river. Snufkin keeps his back to it; he can feel the wind fine as it is.  
  
Moomintroll still hasn’t said anything and Snufkin’s chest feels too small for his breath all of a sudden.  
  
‘Got any plans for today?’ Snufkin says nervously, finally giving in but he’s no crack at this _small-talk_ business. Moomintroll speaks an infinite amount of nothing but manages to make it all sound so charming. Snufkin can hear his words grind together as though rusty himself.  
  
‘Not really. Just thought I’d come see you,’ Moomintroll says, glancing at Snufkin and away again. ‘I hadn’t really thought much further than that.’  
  
‘Do you need to? I think this is far enough for a good day, myself.’  
  
‘Really?’ Moomintroll asks, looking surprised. ‘I thought maybe… I don’t know, that you wanted to be alone.’  
  
‘I thought you did,’ Snufkin replies and Moomintroll gives a few, long blinks before he starts laughing.  
  
‘Well, that’s typical,’ he says and he’s smiling now. Snufkin feels that deep, horrid want again, the one that follows him around and he clears his throat to distract himself. Moomintroll looks over Snufkin’s shoulder, frowning as though he’s just noticed Snufkin’s pack. ‘Bit early for you to sneak off like you did last year, innit?’  
  
‘Hmm? Sneak?’ Snufkin says, clumsily failing at blithe. ‘I did no such thing. You just didn’t notice I’d gone, that’s all.’  
  
‘Course I noticed,’ Moomintroll says, eyes are out over the stream again and a look of great seriousness on his face. ‘I just can’t really stop you, can I? To be honest, some years it feels like you deliberately wait until I’m busy so I don’t even get the chance.’  
  
‘I don’t wait for anything. When it’s time to go, I simply go.’  
  
‘Not sure if that’s better or worse,’ Moomintroll mumbles but Snufkin hears him. He pretends not to, for manners’ sake.  
  
This is a conversation they’ve not had for a few seasons now and Snufkin doesn’t fancy having it again for anything, especially not now given...  
  
Well, there's no point dwelling on all that.  
  
‘I’m going East today,’ Snufkin says, desperate to steer the conversation to safer waters. Moomintroll looks confused, turning around to follow the stream as it bends at the edge of the meadow for Moominhouse.  
  
‘What on earth for?’  
  
‘Rain,’ Snufkin says solemnly, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. ‘From the North.’  
  
‘Rain? Again?’ Moomintroll looks as baffled as Snufkin feels himself about the whole thing. ‘Bit late, isn’t it?’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t want to think about it, really. ‘I hope the valley doesn’t flood again. Nearly lost my hat last time.’  
  
‘Even from over yonder?’  
  
‘Even so,’ Snufkin says and just like that, it’s easy again. Moomintroll is smiling now, that dark look gone from his face. Whatever is troubling him, it’s gone from his mind and oh, how Snufkin wishes he could ease all troubles so well for him.  
  
‘Care for company East?’  
  
‘I’d care for you,’ Snufkin says without thinking. Moomintroll’s cheeks ripple like water, the fluff on end and Snufkin blushes furiously himself. He walks past with his head down. ‘But you better be able to keep up. I don’t fancy catching cold if that rain sneaks up on with us.’  
  
Moomintroll and he follow the stream East. They don’t talk much; it’s mostly Moomintroll pointing out the odd flower or bird as they walk along, challenging Snufkin for the names. Snufkin loves this game, as he always wins. Even if he doesn’t know the answer, neither does Moomintroll and Snufkin can just make up whatever he likes.  
  
Of course, Moomintroll always knows but that doesn’t spoil the fun.  
  
‘What’d you think about that purple one?’  
  
‘It’s pink.’  
  
‘That pink one, then.’  
  
Snufkin looks at where Moomintroll’s pointing at a bunch of pink flowers, all bloomed together on their stalk like a pom-pom. ‘Dodder.’  
  
‘Dodder?’ Moomintroll repeats, disbelieving. ‘Is that the real answer or a Snufkin answer?’  
  
‘Any answer I give will be a Snufkin answer.’  
  
‘Cheeky,’ Moomintroll teases and Snufkin grins at him, so very happy. For any day to be like this one would be a fine thing.

Snufkin had been daft to worry about it. Anything he may have said at Bealtaine has clearly been forgotten. It can’t have been that terrible then, whatever it may have been and Snufkin slows down to walk closer, so he can feel Moomin’s tail where it brushes against his smock as they walk. 

How grand it is, for things to be normal.

  
  
*/

Moomin has no idea how to be normal. 

Snufkin appears to be as he always is, but who Snufkin is and who Moomin thinks Snufkin used to be are all muddled up in his mind now. He’s worrying he's misremembering. Have they always walked so close? Has Snufkin always smiled so very sweet?

A few days ago, Moomin would’ve said no. It must be different. It must be new. A few months ago though, he mightn’t have noticed anything different at all.

It’s not at all fair but Moomin finds himself blaming Snorkmaiden. 

She had been so very distracting all this time! Every time Moomin tries to think, tries to remember for sure she bumps into his thoughts like an unwelcome wasp in the garden. He feels only since they’ve uncoupled has he noticed Snufkin quite as much and Moomin wishes they had done so sooner.  


Then he might know where to start with all this. Because as it is, Moomin’s pretty sure somewhere along the line he’s gone and fallen for Snufkin without noticing and that puts him in a bit of a pickle. Is it possible to fall for someone else when you’re already coupled?  


Perhaps, but Moomin feels like it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do. What if Snufkin is offended? Moomin thinks he’d be offended, if it were the other way around. He wouldn’t fancy feeling like he’s playing second fiddle to someone. Or second mouth-organ, as it is.  
  
Oh, tails forbid, what about when Snorkmaiden hears about it? She’s bound to if this all works out. Which is another thing. If it works out, that is if Snufkin actually-  
  
Of course all this depends on doing the one thing Moomin is absolutely terrified to do; bring it up.   
  
How does one even bring such a thing up? Moomin thinks of it, imagines taking Snufkin’s little hand in his own and saying _Hey Snufkin, what a grand day this is! Say, you wouldn’t happen to remember what you said at Bealtaine would you? If so, think you'd mind terribly saying it again so I might understand exactly what it is you meant by all that?  
  
_Bit wordy, Moomin thinks, shaking his head and Snufkin looks at him, curious. Moomin smiles back at him, which only serves to make Snufkin look more confused but he doesn’t ask. Snufkin never does, really.   
  
Moomin wishes he was surer, one way or another. He swings between utterly confident he knows how Snufkin feels to the complete other direction, anxiously stewing in the unknown. Like a miserable pendulum- _he likes me, he likes me not._ If Moomin had petals, he'd be one bare flower by now with the amount of times he asks the question.  
  
Every time Moomin thinks he’s got it, that he’s sure and he’s going to go find Snufkin and tell him, he remembers one of the many little things that make Snufkin _Snufkin._ And those little things don’t seem like the things of someone who might like a Moomin back.  
  
What would Snufkin even like, if he were to like? Moomin isn't feel overly confident he might know one way or another.  
  
Moomin has been trying hard not to look at Snufkin too much. Worried about giving himself away, but also worried that if he looks he may not be able to stop looking. Snufkin really is quite lovely and while Moomin has always thought so, the urge to look is frankly ridiculous this season. As such, he doesn’t notice that Snufkin has stopped walking and promptly walks right into the back of him.  
  
Snufkin goes down and Moomin goes down on top of him.   
  
‘Snufkin, are you alright?’ Moomin says, leaping back off where Snufkin is squished under him. Luckily, the pack seems to have cushioned the fall for them both, but Moomin is still very conscious that he’s a good bit heavier.   
  
‘Fine, fine,’ Snufkin says quickly, waving Moomin off and his head down, hidden beneath his hat. ‘Sorry, my fault, really.’  
  
‘What were you doing?’ Moomin asks, getting up and holding a paw out for Snufkin to take.   
  
Snufkin pulls on it to bring himself back up. He looks above them, watching the top of the trees it seems and Moomin would ask more, except that Snufkin is still holding his paw. Moomin is frozen, completely unwilling to move lest it end but also not quite sure what to say that might justify keeping it going.  
  
‘It’s cold,’ Snufkin says, turning to look at the trees behind Moomin and Moomin can see he’s frowning now. ‘That wind is cold.’  
  
‘Is it?’ Moomin asks, not really paying attention. ‘I can’t feel it, but I suppose I wouldn’t like you might.’  
  
‘Hmm,’ is all Snufkin says to that but he still looks troubled. ‘And strong. Look at the trees.’  
  
Moomin does, tearing his eyes from Snufkin’s face to look up at the trees. He can’t feel the wind too much from where they are, but the tops of the tall trees above them really are swinging. How strange, for a May morning.   
  
‘Maybe we’re getting a storm,’ Moomin suggests and he’s still holding Snufkin’s hand. He daren’t hold tighter, lest Snufkin spook and let go altogether and with all that on his mind, it’s very hard to care about a little rain.   
  
‘Feels that way,’ Snufkin says quietly and he looks off to the North, or as far as one can see with all the trees and the edge of the mountain. Moomin’s heart sinks at the distant, familiar shadow that comes over Snufkin’s face. Moomin tugs a little on the hand in his paw and Snufkin snaps back to the present, facing Moomin with a jolt.  
  
‘You’re not…’ Moomin loses the bravery he had a second ago, tries to think of a cover and fails. ‘You’re okay, right?’  
  
Snufkin blinks at him, before he smiles and it’s like wiping dust off with a wet cloth the way his expression clears; ‘Perfectly well. C’mon. We’re almost there.’  
  
‘Oh, there’s actually a destination, is there? That’s a change,’ Moomin says, grinning as Snufkin has started to walk and hasn’t let go. Snufkin laughs at him, telling him that the river breaks into a creek further up and there’s good carp lurking there. Moomin shakes his head, squeezing Snufkin’s fingers tightly with his own. ‘There won’t be a fish left in the valley the way you carry on, you know.’  
  
‘I'd never be that careless,’ Snufkin says brightly and he squeezes back. ‘Besides, if there’s one thing I can rely on, it’s this valley and it’s fish.’  
  
‘That all?’ Moomin asks, teasing and Snufkin looks at him from under his hat.   
  
‘Well,’ Snufkin says and his nose is pink. ‘Maybe there are one or two other things.’  
  
Hearing that feels like having the sun on his face in the height of Summer and Moomin lets himself be led. This deep through the trees, he can’t feel the wind at all. They walk until they find the creek, which is truly lovely and tucked into the wood from where splits off the river.   
  
Snufkin brings Moomin right to the edge of where the water looks deepest. It shines like a mirror and Snufkin regrettably must let Moomin go to inspect the best fishing spot. Moomin is happy to watch him anyway and Snufkin sticks his tongue out as he starts to adjust his fishing rod, tugging on the line as he does.  
  
Moomin watches and he thinks. He thinks about the way Snufkin’s tongue looks; pink and sticking out like that and feels the funny turn in his tummy. He thinks about Snufkin’s fingers; nimble and so bony really when held. Moomin thinks about the way Snufkin smells and how Moomin sometimes wishes he could stick his nose into Snufkin’s hair, just to breathe it in for a while.   
  
Papa sees it. Mama sees it. Moomin _thinks_ he sees it but he’d rather be sure because what if… _what if?  
  
_Moomin isn't sure he could survive what might happen if he's wrong.   
  
Splendid can mean a great many things. Yes, a Moomin may be splendid if one was inclined to find them so. But Snufkin has also mentioned how he finds minnows to be splendid when there’s many of them and Moomin isn’t sure he fancies that comparison.   
  
‘You’re awfully quiet,’ Snufkin says suddenly, eyes still down on his rod. Moomin jumps.  
  
‘Sorry. Just thinking.’  
  
‘How dangerous for you,’ Snufkin says, smile all crooked from where he glances at Moomin and Moomin wants to be offended, but can’t bring himself to be. ‘What are you thinking about?’  
  
‘Minnows,’ Moomin says genuinely and Snufkin looks up at him, clearly surprised. He casts the line far out into the creek, the lure bobbing down with the current and Snufkin sticks the rod into the dirt by his boots.  
  
Moomin joins him, as close as is respectable. Snufkin’s arm brushes against him and the fluff there stands on end.   
  
Alright, maybe a _little_ closer than is respectable.  
  
Snufkin reaches for his pack and pulls out a small thing wrapped in brown paper. ‘I have something for you.’  
  
‘Really?’ Moomin asks, eager. ‘What is it?’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t answer, he just hands the package over with a very smug look on his face. His smugness, as it turns out, is entirely justified as Moomin actually gasps when he opens it.  
  
‘Chocolate! Where in the wide world did you get it?’  
  
‘I have my ways,’ Snufkin says mysteriously but he’s still smiling. Moomin holds onto the chocolate tight because he has the sudden urge to touch Snufkin’s face. That soft bit of his mouth where his smile ends looks so inviting.  
  
Oh, he’s in trouble.  
  
Moomin breaks off a piece of the chocolate to distract himself, holding it over to Snufkin. Snufkin, however, has already started to pull on other things from inside his pack and he simply leans down and takes the chocolate between his teeth from Moomin's fingers.  
  
Moomin has never been struck by lightning. But he imagines it feels rather like this as his heart stops in his chest and everything suddenly fizzles inside of him like baking soda hitting vinegar. He’d felt Snufkin’s teeth there, and his lips, right on the tips of his fingers and it’s so weird and delightful a thought as Moomin’s mind spins like a record to it. 

Snufkin makes the most satisfied noise from deep down in the back of his throat as he vanishes the chocolate behind his teeth. It feels like running a stick across bars, right in Moomin’s gut. ‘First chocolate of the year. What do you think?’  
  
Moomin is thinking about quite a lot and none of it is the chocolate in his paws. He quickly breaks off a piece when Snufkin looks at him expectantly, unable to stop himself from his own happy little huff as it starts to melt in his mouth.  
  
‘You are amazing,’ Moomin says genuinely and it’s not just about the chocolate, but Snufkin looks pleased all the same. ‘Really, this is so good.’  
  
‘Only the best for my best friend,’ Snufkin says brightly and Moomin feels a tug in his heart where normally he’d feel warm at hearing such a thing.   
  
Overhead, the wind blows strongly and turns the leaves over. They both look up as the gust startles a flight of swallows. They scatter through the air, forked tails sharp as they turn around in tight circles. The creek fills with the sound of their chirping, so familiar and Moomin closes his eyes, letting it wash over him. The wind isn't quite so loud here and the stop-start squeak of the swallows almost sound like a song. 

‘I wish swallows stayed all year,’ Moomin says, watching as one dips low to the water. 

‘If they didn’t leave, they wouldn’t come back. Then how would you know Spring had started?’

‘I have you.’

‘But what if you didn’t?’ Snufkin says and that stops Moomin’s thoughts right then. Snufkin doesn’t seem to notice, fiddling with a new lure. ‘The world can’t rely on just what we know ourselves. Maybe there’s another Moomintroll out there with no Snufkin and he must wait for swallows and their song instead.’

Moomin is watching Snufkin’s hand, the swallows chirping overheard in their swooping. ‘I pity any Moomintroll that doesn’t have a Snufkin.’ 

‘Perhaps he’s happier,’ Snufkin says and Moomin knows he’s only teasing but Moomin just can’t find the humour in so sad a thought. 

‘He might very well be. Maybe even taller or more handsome than me and all, but he wouldn’t have you and that’s enough for me to feel sorry for him,’ Moomin says and Snufkin stops adjusting with the lure. Moomin knows he’s being looked at and quickly turns back to the swallows.  


‘I doubt there’s a Moomintroll out there more handsome than you,’ Snufkin says at last after a long pause as Moomin goes very hot under his pelt, bashful for the compliment. ‘You m ay be out of luck for taller though.’

And just like that, Moomin’s blush cools right off. He gives Snufkin the best glare he can muster but Snufkin is completely undeterred, feigning innocence when Moomin knows he’s anything but. 

‘That’s not funny.’ 

‘I must say, in all my travels I have never seen a Moomin so charming and yet so tragically short.’ 

‘Ha, ha. Alright, take the mick, why don't you?’ 

‘Perhaps it's a trade off,’ Snufkin continues, his pantomime moving into something Moomin thinks Snufkin must find pensive as reaches for the rod. ‘You will be an exceptional Moomin, but for each note of exceptionalness you lose an inch.’

‘You think I’m exceptional?’ Moomin asks, distracted and Snufkin looks at him. Snufkin smiles and it’s like he’s gone soft at the edges, like smudged paint that Moomin wants on his fingertips. 

‘I think you’re splendid, Moomintroll.'  
  
_Now,_ Moomin thinks. Why not bring it up now? It seems as good a time as any.  
  
‘Hey, Snufkin,’ Moomin says, putting the chocolate down between them. ‘Can I talk to you about something?’  
  
Snufkin nods silently, eyes down on the creek again and looking quite content.   
  
‘How much do you remember about what happened at Bealtaine?’  
  
Snufkin drops his rod.   
  
He scrambles to get it back in his grip, but the length of it hits the water before he can. The water splashes and Snufkin is stuttering to himself, words Moomin can’t quite make out before Snufkin sighs miserably. ‘Oh. I think I’ll have scared the fish now.’  
  
‘Snufkin,’ Moomin says, a little impatient but Snufkin ignores him.   
  
‘Maybe I can set up further down,’ Snufkin says, looking everywhere but at Moomin it appears. ‘Or the other side? It’s a big enough creek-‘  
  
‘Snufkin.’  
  
‘Or perhaps we should return to the river altogether-‘  
  
_‘Snufkin!’_ Moomin snaps and Snufkin’s anxious babbling comes to an abrupt stop. ‘Forget about the fish for one bloody second, will you?’  
  
Snufkin’s entire face goes red and he ducks his head down quickly to cover it with the wide brim of his hat. Moomin tries to resist the frustration he feels, the impression of being shut out of something and swallows around the immediate scold he had building in his throat.   
  
‘So, what do you remember?’  
  
‘That it was a very pleasant evening,’ Snufkin says diplomatically and Moomin could throttle him.   
  
‘Anything more specific than that?’  
  
‘There was mead,’ Snufkin says, a little more strained. ‘I remember there was a lot of mead.’  
  
‘Considerably less after you had a go of it, but yes. There was mead. What else?’  
  
Snufkin fidgets with the reel, face still hidden and he’s so uncomfortable, it’s practically radiating off him. Moomin feels like he could almost reach out and touch the nervousness like it’s an unpleasant tangle of briars that’s sprung up around Snufkin right now.   
  
‘I think I got upset over something,’ Snufkin says in the manner of someone who’d rather be saying nothing at all. ‘It’s not very clear I’m afraid.’  
  
‘What did you get upset over?’ Moomin asks though of course he knows, but it’s rather another thing to hear it in the sober light of day and Moomin needs to hear it again. To be sure.  
  
_He likes me, he likes me not. Yes, no. Yes, no-_  
  
‘You know me,’ Snufkin says and it sounds like it’s forced out between gritted teeth. ‘I’m not a party person.’  
  
‘You’re not a person-person,’ Moomin replies, trying to joke a little to ease the mood but Snufkin doesn’t thaw. ‘Do you remember what we talked about when we went upstairs?’  
  
Snufkin shoulders shoot right up, his knees tucking and it’s like he’s trying to make himself as small as he possibly can. Moomin twinges with guilt, sorry to be making his friend so uncomfortable and he scoots a bit closer. He reaches a paw out, hovering as near as he can to Snufkin’s hat.   
  
‘Can I see you? Please?’  
  
For a moment, Moomin thinks that the silence he gets is the answer and he goes to move away. But then Snufkin’s hat twitches, bobbing up and down just once with a single nod and it’s enough for Moomin. He takes the edge of the brim and tugs it up, revealing Snufkin’s face to him.   
  
Snufkin is looking at him, eyes very wide and he’s gone pale now. His blush has drained away like juice from a fruit. Moomin smiles at him, heart feeling so heavy all of a sudden.   
  
‘Hi there,’ Moomin says and Snufkin’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes blink. ‘That’s better, don’t you think?’  
  
Snufkin’s face doesn’t let Moomin know what he thinks one or another. Truthfully, he looks like an animal that’s been cornered.   
  
It’s that really, more than anything so far, that makes Moomin realise that maybe this is a mistake after all. If there’s one thing Snufkin should never be, it’s caught in a trap somewhere. Even one Moomin didn’t mean to set for him and what’s an answer worth if it comes like this?  
  
He hears his Papa’s voice in his head suddenly, as clear as anything. _Some decisions are a terrible crack to unmake._ Moomin thinks he understands what that means now.  
  
‘I just wanted to tell you…’ Moomin licks his lips, struggling to think of something more convincing than the truth. ‘That you talk an awful lot of nonsense when you’re drunk.’  
  
‘… really?’ Snufkin asks, quiet but clearly not persuaded out of his apprehension yet.   
  
‘Yes,’ Moomin says, feeling bolder. ‘So prepare to be embarrassed, because you told me something quite shocking. You said you got drunk so you wouldn’t have to stay for Papa’s bonfire speech. That’s terrible guest etiquette, Snufkin. You should be ashamed of yourself.’  
  
It’s, quite frankly, a ridiculous story as Snufkin is barely inclined to give his opinion on anything never mind Papa or his speeches. And Snufkin does indeed look most perplexed, creasing a little frown about his nose but Moomin holds his gaze, hoping to convey some level of sincerity to what it blatantly a lie.   
  
‘I had no idea you cared so little for my poor father,’ Moomin says, feigning dramatics in an effort to come across more candid. ‘And to think of all those evenings I had forced you to sit through. If I had known he’d literally drive you to drink, I’d never have insisted. So consider yourself excused from all further memoir readings.’  
  
‘What..?’ It’s more a breath than a word, as Snufkin can’t seem to think of anything to say to Moomin’s ridiculous attempt to save face. ‘That’s what you wanted to talk about?’  
  
It’s like watching something come undone. Snufkin visibly sinks closer, the anxiety slipping right off him and Moomin wants to kick himself for passing the opportunity up but can’t bring himself to do so when Snufkin looks so much happier. It hurts more than it should as Moomin realises this probably means the odds are swinging in the other direction now.   
  
Moomin thinks that if Snufkin were to tell him he'd want to hear it. Snufkin, however...  
  
‘What else is there?’ Moomin asks innocently and Snufkin smiles, going back to his fishing. He leans close, his shoulder to Moomin’s and Moomin wonders how it’s possible to be so close to someone and yet feel further away than ever.  
  
‘Nothing at all,’ Snufkin says, already brighter. ‘Though I am sorry for poor Moominpapa’s ego. You won’t tell him, will you?’  
  
‘No,’ Moomin says, looking away as he feels his eyes sting quite suddenly. ‘I won’t tell him.’  
  
Moomin is disappointed but tries to hide it. A part of him had thought- well, it seems so silly but he’d thought Snufkin might kick them off altogether. Daft idea. Who was Moomin trying to kid? He feels foolish and embarrassed by his own self-confidence, he feels ashamed with how hard he’d wanted Snufkin to say _Yes, Moomintroll, I do._  
  
Because Moomin does. He does with a frightful strength. 

*/

The rain finally catches up with them.   
  
It's fierce cold and heavy, something much closer to an Autumn storm than Spring downpour. Snufkin is quiet as they make their way back towards Moominhouse, Moomin tempting him with the promise of some hot toddy as reward for a successful haul of three carp. Moomin tries to talk to him over the din, but the rain is hard on the trees and river alike. They're deafened by it, really.  
  
Moomin blinks through the rain best he can, seeing the warm yellow lights of home not far ahead now. The walk out hadn't felt as long as the walk back, but then anything feels longer when doing so in the rain. Just as the come around the bend of the river, the wind is free from the trees and the foot of the mountain, hitting them with full force.

Snufkin's hat is blown straight from his head, down into the long grass and he flails wildly to catch it but the wind is too quick.   
  
Moomin runs past to try and catch it. The ground sinks with thick mud, the grass is sticking to his fur but he runs away and catches it before it soars off into the river.  
  
'Daft troll,' Snufkin says fondly when Moomin returns with the hat, considerably muddier but there. Moomin replaces it on Snufkin's head and looks at the rain on his face, dripping off the end of his nose and his paws don't let go of the brim.   
  
'Dafter than you think,' Moomin says truthfully and the wind swells again, whipping the grass at their knees.   
  
'Go home, Moomintroll,' Snufkin says, stepping backwards. 'Have extra for me, but I think I must go now.'  
  
'Go?' Moomin repeats, going cold and not for the rain.   
  
'I need some time to myself,' Snufkin says, looking back behind them East.   
  
'But... your camp-?'  
  
'I won't need it.’

Snufkin steps close again, so very close and Moomin's heart is suddenly bursting, his breath stuck and his fur is so very sodden from the rain but he feels a thousand times lighter because their noses are so near all of a sudden. Snufkin's eyes are dark in the rain, knotwood more than toffee, and they move over Moomin's face like he's trying to find something.

‘I'll find a cave. It'll be enough.'

'Snufkin...' Moomin thinks he needs to do something but can't for the hide of him think of anything other than what it might feel like to kiss Snufkin right now. Moomin's never thought about it before.   
  
'I'll be back before you know it.'  
  
Snufkin doesn't say goodbye but that's the only thing to call the way he lingers, just a second longer, before turning his back to both Moomin and the wind and heading back East. Moomin stands, slowly sinking into the mud and watches him go. Watches until his green smock vanishes into the thick curtain of grey rain. 

Back at the house, Moomin leans back against the front door. He's making quite the puddle on the floor, his feet leaving muddy prints on the welcome mat as black as coal.   
  
'Oh, hello, dear,' Mama says with quiet surprise, but she's armed with a mop anyway and a towel still warm from the boiler press. She hands it Moomin as she starts dabbing at the floor around him. 'Successful day with Snufkin?'

'He caught his fish,' Moomin says, still quite dazed as he starts patting the end of his snout with the towel.   
  
'And how about you? Did you land your catch as well?'  
  
Moomin eyes his mother, who keeps mopping with a polite look of disinterest of her face. 'I didn't cast a line today.'  
  
'Pity,' Mama says, gently shuffling him to wipe his feet. 'Maybe next time you'll try your paw at it.'  
  
'Maybe,' Moomin says awkwardly, rubbing his ears now. 'I'm heading for a bath.'  
  
'Lovely idea.'  
  
Upstairs, Moomin starts to run the tap in the bath. The house is like a drum under the rain which rattles against the walls and windows and Moomin lets the bathroom start to steam, thinking about... well, thinking about the whole lot of it really. He pops over to his bedroom, pushing the bed aside. But when Moomin pops up the floorboard-  
  
'Oh no,' Moomin says to himself, quickly flicking on his lamp just to be sure the dark sky outside isn't just casting shadows. 'Oh, no, no.'  
  
But light or no light, there's no changing the fact. The hidey-hole is empty and Moomin knows with bone deep certainty that only one creature in the whole valley would've gone to the trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how slow is too slow for _slow burn_
> 
> also i have idea for another snufmin fic, but what are some solid tropes you guys wish you'd see more of in this fandom? because i have one in mind but im nosy...
> 
> P.S i forgot to add a song!! today's addition is _forgive me friend_ by smith and thell


	8. Chapter 8

Moomin runs down the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet as he goes. He throws himself over the railing, hollering down to where Mama is sewing on the couch below him.  
  
‘Where’s Little My?!’  
  
‘Oh, hello,’ Mama says, looking up at him upside-down from the couch. ‘I thought you were going for a bath?’  
  
‘Little My,’ Moomin says again, the panic inside of himself feeling like that awful scrape a fork marks on the plate. Only the plate is his poor disposition. ‘Where is she? Is she here?’  
  
‘No, dear,’ Mama tells him, returning to her sewing. ‘She left yesterday to visit Mymble. Didn’t you notice?’  
  
‘Mymble?!’ Moomin yelps, horrified and he most certainly didn’t notice. ‘Why?’  
  
‘Do you need her so quickly? I thought you’d be rather pleased for the peace and quiet.’  
  
‘She didn’t say anything to you, did she?’ Moomin asks in a rush and Mama keeps sewing but her ears flick back towards him, telling him he’s caught her interest.  
  
‘What might Little My have said?’  
  
‘Nothing about a book, no?  
  
‘Books are not Little My’s preference, dear.’  
  
‘They are if they don’t belong to her,’ Moomin says bitterly. ‘When did she leave?’  
  
‘Some time this morning,’ Mama says and Moomin curses himself for not noticing sooner. For not checking on the hidey-hole before now. He’d not thought of the diary, too concerned with what was happening now to worry about what _might_ happen at all.  
  
He lurks on the stairs, frustrated at his own forgetfulness as Mama keeps sewing until both of them are interrupted by the sound of a large drop of water hitting the living floor.  
  
‘You should stop running that bath, dear,’ Mama says idly, cutting her string with a dignified snip of her small scissors. ‘Otherwise it might run the length of the valley and you’ll have nothing to show for it.’

Grumbling, Moomin makes his way back upstairs to try and prevent another great flood.  
  
The bathroom however, is ahead of him exactly as Mama said. The bath has run over into a fine mess and Moomin quickly turns the taps off, staring down at the warm water and the rain rattling outside like his heart in his chest.  
  
It must be Little My, who else would’ve done something so nasty as to take something clearly marked _Private_ and nick it? And knowing her wretched little self, she’s gone and read it already. The thought of it makes Moomin feel so ill he actually groans aloud.  
  
‘Bugger it!’ he gripes to himself and he runs his paws over his face, making another frustrated sigh when realises too late how muddy they are. ‘Bugger it from here to a Hattifattner’s shoes.’  
  
She won’t understand, Moomin thinks. She won’t understand but more dangerously, she’ll think she does and who knows what damage she’ll do. At least Snufkin isn’t here to wander haplessly into her path, unless of course they run into each other on their respective journeys-  
  
Moomin swears again, dipping down suddenly to bury his muzzle into the water of the bath and screaming into it. The water bubbles up around him and he tosses his head up, quickly running out of breath. He gasps to himself, water running down his snout and his neck and his knees where he’s kneeling in the water already spilled.  
  
‘No,’ he says to himself, wiping at his snout. ‘No, Snufkin’s gone East. Her sister is the other way, they won’t meet. And Little My doesn’t know he’s gone, so she won’t look.’  
  
Moomin looks down at his reflection in the rippling bathwater.  
  
‘Right?’ he asks it, but his reflection doesn’t look even half as convinced as he feels himself. ‘I’ve got time to get to her before she gets to him.’  
  
That’s all that matters now, Moomin realises. No point trying to get the diary back. The horse has well and truly bolted on that one, likely gone on to have won the local gymkhana as it went because Little My most certainly read the diary the second she got her sneaky fingers on it.  
  
Moomin tips himself over, right into the warm water and it sloshes over the side of the bath. In for a penny and all that, he thinks, looking at the wet floor. He’ll clean himself up, grab an umbrella and follow Little My to Mymble’s house. He’ll head her off, best he can and beg her for the chance to explain.  
  
She’ll be horrible, Moomin knows. She always is. But maybe he can at least convince her to keep said horribleness to herself until he has a chance to explain.

*/

‘She’s not here,’ the Mymble’s daughter says sadly that evening, answering Moomin’s question at her door.  
  
‘What?’ Moomin panics, trying to look over like Little My might be hiding behind her sister’s skirt. ‘Are you sure? She can be quite hard to spot, you know.’  
  
‘Are you suggesting I mightn’t know my own sister is in my house?’ Mymble says coolly and Moomin splutters, backtracking.  
  
‘No, no! Course not. Course you’d know, I just- I just really need to find her,’ he says awkwardly, waving a paw as he explains and nearly tipping his umbrella too far over. It really is so very miserable outside. ‘Any idea where else she could’ve gone?’  
  
Mymble taps a long, delicate finger to her chin as she thinks. ‘I know Mother is visiting. She’s brought that funny house of hers to the beach. Perhaps Little My went there, first?’  
  
Moomin is confused until he isn’t.  
  
‘Oh, Mymble! When Mama said Mymble she meant- oh, of course! The beach, you said?’ Moomin asks, hopeful. The beach is further West again. At least wherever Little My is wandering, it’s further from where Snufkin is. ‘Thank you!’  
  
‘Are you going right now?’ Mymble asks, sounding disappointed and Moomin responds with a rather eloquent _umm._ She sighs, her pretty face shifting into a projection of perfect woe. ‘It’s such a shame, I was quite glad of the visitor. I was expecting someone, you know but they had to cancel. Such a dreadful disappointment.’  
  
‘Oh. Right. Well, sorry to hear that-‘  
  
‘And I worked so hard on dinner!’ Mymble continues, like Moomin hasn’t spoken. ‘Seems a shame to waste it. Won’t you stay at least for some of it?’  
  
‘I… really need to find Little My,’ Moomin says, but Mymble has already reached across the threshold to start ushering him inside her flower strewn cottage.  
  
‘You may as well wait out some of this rain,’ she says, taking his umbrella and popping it down with remarkable ease. She closes the door behind him and Moomin is already at the table before he realises what’s happened. ‘I made Karelian pasty! Should warm you up nice and proper before heading out again.’  
  
Moomin has to admit that it does smell very good and he is tempted by the sight of it on the table, edges crimped and the buttery filling sunshine yellow and caramel browned on top.  
  
‘And goodness knows you’d need your wits about you before facing my sister,’ Mymble says, pulling a cushioned chair out for him. ‘What better way than with a full stomach?’  
  
There’s absolutely nothing to stop him from leaving but Papa has always taught him that once a lady has pulled a chair for him, he is obligated to return her favour. And so Moomin sits down at the table, admiring the pretty lace dressings and wondering how quickly he might scoff something down before leaving again.  
  
Mymble cuts him a generous slice of pasty, sliding it onto his plate gracefully before her own. She pours two glasses of wine and sits herself at the head of table, nothing but the sound of the rain of her slated roof for conversation at first. Moomin helps himself, his plan of stuffing at a pace coming to a halt when he tastes how lovely it is.  
  
‘Oh, this is good!’ Moomin says and tries to keep the surprise from his voice. But in his defence, the only experience of Mymble cooking he has is Little My and he’s yet to see her use a stove for anything but burning perfectly good coffee.  
  
Mymble blushes in two perfect circles on her cheeks.  
  
‘Wait,’ Moomin says, pausing mid-bite. ‘If Little My isn’t here, then who were you waiting for?’  
  
Mymble eyes him over the table and she reminds him so vividly of Little My right there, it gives him goose-pimples under his pelt. ‘You’re a nosy one, Moomintroll.’  
  
‘One of the first things people notice,’ Moomin jokes, pointing at the end of his large nose and Mymble’s face clears, though she’s still watching him carefully.  
  
‘And charming, too,’ Mymble says, taking a prim bite of her pasty. ‘I hope Snorkmaiden knows what she gave up here.’  
  
‘Ah.’ Moomin chokes, deeply embarrassed. ‘She didn’t- she didn’t really _give up._ Is that what people are saying? Because that’s not really what happened.’  
  
‘Oh, no?’ Mymble says as she reaches for her wine. ‘Mutual, was it?’  
  
‘Well, she did start us off,’ Moomin concedes, blushing furiously and hoping Mymble won’t notice how everything stands on end for it. ‘But yeah, mutual I think is a good word for it.’  
  
‘Interesting,’ Mymble says blithely as though it’s anything but. ‘It’s a pity. I do so love a wedding and I was rather hoping that when news of you and that Snorkmaiden lass reached me it would be an invitation.’  
  
‘Ugh.’ Moomin stalls, uncomfortable. ‘Sorry to disappoint you?’  
  
‘Can’t be helped, I suppose,’ Mymble sighs and Moomin tries not to be too nettled by the way she’s lamenting over business that has nothing to do with her. ‘Better to know for certain with those kind of things. Perhaps you’ll both find someone more suitable.’  
  
‘Maybe…’ Moomin says, poking what’s left of his slice on the plate with his fork. ‘Or maybe not. Maybe I won’t get married at all.’  
  
‘Don’t even say such a dreadful thing! You might tempt some bad fates,’ Mymble warns, looking around her like the Spirit of Marriages might appear to scold them herself. ‘I’m in a sorry way as it is as the Mymble’s daughter.’  
  
‘Are you?’ Moomin says, surprised as he’d describe Mymble as many things but in a sorry anything has certainly never come to mind.  
  
‘Well, there’s a particular expectation, isn’t there?’ Mymble says and the family resemblance makes itself known again, as she says that in the manner that she thinks Moomin is being quite slow. ‘Or lack of one, I suppose. Bit of a black sheep among the flock, I am. So I’d rather not stack any more odds against my hope to get married with your careless tongue.’  
  
‘I doubt the odds are stacked against you!’ Moomin replies, desperate to ease the offence he’s clearly caused. Outside, the sky suddenly thunders and they both look up like they might see it through the roof. Moomin clears his throat. ‘I mean, you’re a- a fine looking Mymble. Not that I’d notice much on that, I don’t really look for… but I’m sure you’re lovely by a Mymble’s standards! I mean you’re… tall?’  
  
The storm roars, as though laughing at him.  
  
‘Oh dear,’ Mymble says with enormous pity as Moomin’s words peter out. ‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’  
  
Moomin talks a large gulp of wine. ‘That obvious?’  
  
‘I’d have thought someone coupled as long as you would know how to compliment a lady,’ Mymble says and Moomin breathes his wine in the wrong way.  
  
‘Ladies are… tricky,’ Moomin wheezes, patting at his chest where the acrid taste of wine stings. ‘They don’t appreciate simpler compliments, like on their fishing lure designs.’  
  
‘My, how specific. Do you know many ladies who design fishing lures?’  
  
‘No, but Snufkin always seems very pleased when I say it to him,’ Moomin says, too freely he realises after it’s out and Mymble blinks, in a manner a little familiar to him. Moomin reaches for his wine again before he says something else stupid.  
  
‘I’ve never seen Snufkin very pleased about much,’ Mymble says thoughtfully, cutting into her pasty. ‘Perhaps your talent for compliments are reserved just for him. Might that be fair to say?’  
  
‘Lots of people compliment Snufkin.’  
  
‘Not to his face, he can be so tart about it they’re probably afraid they’ll get burnt for the trouble,’ Mymble replies after chewing her food, so gracious she makes Moomin self-conscious. ‘I guess you must be special.’  
  
Moomin feels such a crushing sense of misery then, he loses even his appetite. ‘I’m really not, I assure you.’  
  
‘Oh.’ Mymble puts her cutlery down and Moomin stares fixedly across the table, at a nice painting she has hanging of the coast to avoid her eye. ‘I see. You love him.’  
  
_‘What?!’_ Moomin shrieks, so alarmed he pushes back from the table and tips his chair right over. He lands on his back with a _thump._ He scrambles to his feet. ‘What- what would- why would you even think that?’  
  
Mymble, for her part, has not moved at all from where she sits and she gently scrapes her knife off the tines of her fork. ‘I know love when I see it, Moomintroll. Miserable thing, really.’  
  
‘Miserable?’ Moomin echoes, confused and Mymble hums.  
  
‘Quite the worst,’ she replies sadly, eyes far away as she looks towards the window and the rain. ‘And with a Mumrik and all, oh. You careless creature.’  
  
Moomin goes hot at the implication. ‘What difference does it make if he’s a Mumrik? I don’t care about that.’  
  
‘You should, really,’ Mymble says, not noticing how offended Moomin is. ‘I’ve seen the trouble they can cause. Hasn’t anyone told you they’re not the marrying sort?’  
  
‘Well, yes,’ Moomin answers, thinking of Papa and what he had to say and a nauseous fists grabs him inside. ‘But… that doesn’t matter to me. Like I said, maybe I don’t want to get married.’  
  
‘Don’t you want to though?’  
  
‘I…’ Moomin pauses, shoulders dropping. ‘I haven’t given it much thought, I guess.’  
  
‘You’d better do that first,’ Mymble says and Moomin shakes his head, ears flicking nervously. ‘It does to be careful in these things.’  
  
‘This is so ridiculous!’ Moomin groans, frustrated all of a sudden and so uncomfortable with the horrible, lurching feeling his gut. Like falling from a high place. ‘Papa says to be careful. You say to be careful. Too-Ticky says sod careful and go for it. Groke knows what Little My might say. Can’t I decide for myself what I will or won’t do about my own life?’  
  
‘Too-Ticky?’ Mymble asks, looking at him curiously. ‘She said go for it, hmm? That’s interesting.’  
  
‘It doesn’t matter!’ Moomin says as it truly doesn’t. ‘All that matters is how I feel and how Snufkin feels and no one else should be butting in!’  
  
‘You seem to be talking to an awful lot of people who are not Snufkin, if that’s the case,’ Mymble says smartly and Moomin is like an engine puffing steam as he furiously stews on that, not able to think of a clever response. ‘I wonder why that is. Scared of what he might say?’  
  
Moomin clenches his paws into tight fists, realising too late he’s shaking a little. Afraid or angry, possibly both, not entirely sure where to start telling the difference. He thinks about Snufkin, all alone out East in this horrible rain and aches in his heart like an open mouth.  
  
‘I… well,’ Moomin struggles to think of what to say before he eventually answers, voice very small. ‘Wouldn’t you be?’  
  
‘Scared from here to the top of the Lonely Mountains, and back again,’ Mymble replies kindly, getting up from her seat to pat him softly on the shoulder. ‘It’s a terrible thing to love someone when you don’t know what they’ll do with it.’  
  
‘Snufkin’s my friend,’ Moomin says earnestly. ‘Whatever he does, I know it’ll be right.’  
  
‘It may be right for him, but it’s you who’s in love here.’  
  
Whatever else Mymble might’ve said to that is completely forgotten as there is a deafening, bone-chilling crack from outside like a mighty gun. They both jump from the fright, looking up in horror. The old gas-lights flicker around them as there is a loud, creaking groan.  
  
Then, a large branch crashes in through the ceiling and both Moomin and Mymble shriek at the sight of it.  
  
‘My roof!’ Mymble cries as water rushes in from the crooked slates, running down the length of the branch on top of them.  
  
‘Oh no,’ Moomin says to himself, running to the front door and throwing it open, to be met with the trunk of the tree. ‘A tree has fallen!’  
  
‘Oh, thank goodness you’re here or I’d have never noticed!’ Mymble snaps hysterically and again, Little My comes to mind and Moomin starts to panic.

He pushes at the tree, but it’s old and wide, too wide to get around and far too heavy to push though he keeps trying.  
  
‘Great floundering Booble!’ Moomin cries, hammering at the trunk some more. ‘It’s stuck!’  
  
‘Well, un-stick it!’  
  
‘With what? My magic un-sticking spell?’  
  
‘You’re a troll, aren’t you?’ Mymble says, quite upset now and she starts pacing around the branch, shaking. ‘You’re strong, just lift it!’  
  
‘Lift it?!’ Moomin repeats, stunned by the suggestion. ‘What do you think I’ve been trying to do?’  
  
‘Try again!’ Mymble tells him and Moomin does just that, but to no avail. Mymble despairs. ‘Oh, we’re trapped!’  
  
‘I can get out the window,’ Moomin says, trying to stay calm. ‘There might still be time to catch up with Little My.’  
  
‘You’re _leaving?!’_ Mymble recoils in horror. ‘You’re going to just leave me stuck here?’  
  
‘It’s hardly stuck if you’re in your own house, now is it? You can come through the window with me, if you fancy it.’  
  
‘I fancy having my front door back!’ Mymble retorts and Moomin winces from how high her voice goes. ‘You can’t just leave me here, how in the valley am I to move it myself?’  
  
‘Uh…’ It’s a good point but that doesn’t mean Moomin has to like it. ‘I _really_ need to find Little My.’  
  
‘And I _really_ need for there not to be a tree in my house right now,’ Mymble counters. ‘Can’t you at least help me cut through the worst of it?’  
  
How is Moomin supposed to say no to that? He must admit; the pressing need to find Little My does seem rather small in comparison to where the storm pours in on top of Mymble’s colourful carpet.

Moomin makes the decision though he’s not pleased to. Snufkin is still East, likely will be for a while yet which means he has time. At least some.  
  
‘Alright,’ he sighs, looking at the mess and shivering when a particularly cold wind blows in. ‘Where’s your ax?’

  
  
*/

In the end, Snufkin stays away three days. 

Now, Snufkin throws his third pebble, which hits its target as the previous two did. It bounces off Moomintroll’s window and soars back down.  
  
But still, nobody comes.  
  
At first, Snufkin had thought Moomintroll mightn’t have heard it over the rain that's still pouring, days later. But now he’s forced to accept that Moomintroll is simply not there, which is quite disappointing. Not that such is particularly fair, as it’s not like Snufkin had warned Moomintroll beforehand that he’d be back today and Moomintroll is more than entitled to go and make other plans.

Still though…  
  
Snufkin decides to head back to his camp. No point standing around in the rain, but just as he turns the window opens.  
  
‘Moomintroll!’ Snufkin says happily, looking up and getting rain in his eyes. But even through that, he sees that it’s not Moomintroll looking down at him from the window.  
  
‘Throw any more rocks and you’ll build a new mountain,’ Little My shouts down to him over the rattle of the gutter past the window. ‘He’s not here.’  
  
‘I had gathered,’ Snufkin calls back, feeling the disappointment all the more keenly now after getting his hopes up. ‘Do you know where he is?’  
  
‘If I did, not sure I’d tell you anyway. Things are bad enough with this miserable weather never mind adding you two miserable nits to the mix.’  
  
Snufkin sucks on his cheek, not sure if he needs to be offended by that or not. Instead, he tips his hat to Little My and heads to leave before stopping again as she hollers his name after him.  
  
‘Snufkin! Wait! Why don’t you come in and wait for him? He should be back soon enough.’  
  
‘I can wait at my camp.’  
  
‘Oh yes, as that’s far more comfortable than a fire not in danger of going out just by the darn luck of being in a fireplace,’ Little My shouts and Snufkin sighs at her sarcasm. ‘At least come in and dry off some. There’s coffee on.’  
  
Snufkin weighs his options. Coffee tips the scales, as the rain rather is too heavy to get a fire going to make his own.  
  
Snufkin lets himself in through the veranda, leaving his boots at the door so as not to traipse mud through the Moomins' home. He can’t help the drips though as he trails water after him. But the fire is lit and for that he is very grateful, walking over to stand before it just as Little My hops down the stairs.  
  
‘Where is everyone?’ Snufkin asks, careful not to specify.

‘They’ve all gone out. Won’t be back until teatime,’ she says, swinging through the bars of the bannister to jump onto the couch. ‘Nobody here but us chickens.’  
  
‘You didn’t want to go?’  
  
‘Only got back myself today. I have bigger fish to fry. But don’t go thinking me your waitress for it, if you want that coffee you can fetch it yourself.’  
  
Snufkin is loath to leave the fire, but he does rather fancy a warm coffee to ease the chill he feels brewing in his skin. He heads into the kitchen which smells of coffee from where it sits in the press. Snufkin takes the mug Moomintroll usually gives him and pours himself a generous cup.  
  
Little My has followed him in. ‘Cream is in the icebox.’  
  
‘It’s fine as it is.’  
  
‘Don’t punish yourself. You didn’t have to carry it on your back so it’s hardly spoiled; just add the cream for the sake of the Groke's frozen knickers.’  
  
Snufkin can’t argue with that and he adds one spoon of the whipped cream Moominmama has left in a bowl. 

Turns out to have been the right call- the coffee is burnt.   
  
But burnt as it is, it’s not enough to distract him from the feeling of being watched. He glances over to see Little My is indeed doing so with a strange expression of dark moodiness. The moodiness in itself is not strange given the face that wears it, but Snufkin is unsure what he could’ve possibly done already. He’s only been here ten minutes.  
  
As it is, he doesn’t need to ask as Little My says; ‘So you put an end to the nonsense, did you?’  
  
‘I suppose I don’t need nonsense presently,’ Snufkin asks, thinking of bitter coffee.  
  
‘You were a touch feckless going about it.’  
  
Snufkin looks down, frowning.  
  
‘I don’t think I spilled anything, did I?’  
  
‘Not with the coffee, you twit.’  
  
Snufkin isn’t sure what else he could’ve possibly mismanaged in short a space of time so he simply takes another sip of his coffee. When it becomes clear to her that Snufkin will not ask any further questions, Little My huffs and jumps up onto the kitchen table. It’d be impressive, the spring she has if she doesn’t always use it to be a bother.  
  
‘I knew you didn’t have it in you. I just knew it,’ Little My says and Snufkin looks at her, baffled. ‘But for all my trouble, I was rooting for you anyway.’  
  
‘Rooting for me?’  
  
‘My mistake, really,’ Little My continues and she glares, somehow angrier all of a sudden. ‘Turns out everyone in the world is right and a Mumrik can only be trusted as far as one can throw them. And given the size of you and me, I couldn’t toss you far.’  
  
Snufkin bristles at the slight against him and is quite confused now, not at all sure what he could possibly have done to have broken a trust he hadn’t even been sure he’d had to begin with.

‘Have I done something to warrant being tossed one way or another?’  
  
‘Really? You’re going to play dumb with me?’  
  
Snufkin feels rather suddenly that this whole invitation has been a trap and he’s been too slow to see it.  
  
‘I’m not Moomintroll, you know. Your cute little dance of _Oh, I’m so fit and aloof_ doesn’t get me tapping so don’t even try it,’ she says, putting her hands on her hips with purpose. ‘I warned him off you, you know.’  
  
‘What?’ Snufkin can feel the blood drain from his face, like a splinter being pulled.  
  
‘Should’ve known it’d all end in tears. But he’s not all bad, that Moomintroll and I might even go so far as to say I like him.’ Little My coughs then, like even admitting that much is unbearably cloying. ‘He didn’t listen to me but honestly, I expected better of you. Aren’t you supposed to be the sensible one?’  
  
Snufkin has been accused of many things in his life and being sensible has rarely been one.  
  
‘If I’d known you’d cock it up this badly I wouldn’t have bothered with any of it. It would have been better to suffer in silence until the miserable day you both died if this was what would come of it.’  
  
Dread washes down over Snufkin like the rain outside. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’  
  
‘No? You don’t know what I mean about that thing you and Moomintroll have got going on? Or not going on, as the case may be.’  
  
‘We don’t… it’s not a thing,’ Snufkin says weakly and Little My scoffs up at him.  
  
‘Certainly not now, I know,’ she says and Snufkin feels his stomach roll and he instantly regrets the coffee. He feels jittery in his skin quite suddenly. ‘If you weren’t up for it, why on earth did you let it carry on? You can’t blame him for thinking you might be pleased!’  
  
‘I… I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Snufkin stutters and his throat feels tight, the kitchen seeming far too small a space quite suddenly. He closes his eyes and ducks his head, trying to hide his face. ‘Why would you think I’d not be up for it? Or would, or whatever you said!’  
  
‘Why? What kind of daft question is that? Want me to fetch you a mirror and save us all the trouble?’  
  
Snufkin sneaks a look up at that and Little My puffs her cheeks out with frustration. She plops down to sit on the edge of the table, apparently done with her simple glaring and starts kicking so her heels bang off the underside of the table. The noise makes Snufkin flinch.  
  
‘I thought maybe you liked him enough,’ Little My says, quieter but no more pleased. ‘That you might change your mind about the whole thing.’ She looks up at him, teeth flashing. ‘I told you to be careful!’  
  
‘Careful?’ Snufkin repeats but it only serves to tick Little My off more it appears.  
  
‘Yes! Careful! You know, like handling something with care?’ she says, pointing at him with a small, accusing finger. ‘Moomintroll isn’t built like you are. He’s feels a lot about these kinds of things!’  
  
‘I feel things…’ says Snufkin meekly, nettled by the implication.  
  
‘Not like Moomintroll does though, right?’ Little My says meanly. ‘And now you’ve gone and spoiled it and he’s leaving just because of you. Tell me, where will you go next Spring when there’s no one waiting here for you?’  
  
Snufkin rocks on his heels, nearly dropping his mug. He puts it down on the table with a shaky hand, holding his breath deep in his chest as the coldest, tightest wrench of a feeling takes him inside.  
  
‘What do you mean?’ Snufkin says, his breath too thin and the words run out before he finishes. But Little My appears to have understood him fine.  
  
‘Stop it, you’re not fooling anyone,’ she says, going back to her kicking. ‘Everyone knows that a secret of Moomintroll’s is a secret of yours.’  
  
But clearly not, Snufkin thinks and if the ground were to swallow him right now, it wouldn’t feel as steep a drop as the one he feels realising this. He’s quiet so long that Little My gets back up to her feet, walking across the table to be closer. Instinctively, Snufkin flinches away from her, looking but not really seeing the way she takes that.  
  
‘So what did you say to him when you turned him down? Must’ve been bad if he’s running from the valley.’  
  
‘Turned him down?’ Snufkin is so dizzy all of a sudden. Little My rolls her eyes.  
  
‘When he told you he wants to do what Moomins do and do it with you.’  
  
Snufkin feels like a brittle stick beneath a heavy boot. That is just- too far.  
  
‘Snufkin?’

He shakes his head, not sure what to say. Where to start. He has a lot of questions. He feels like something capsizing, like when he dips his canister into the river and it fills too quickly. Too heavy to hold, the current too strong and swept away.  
  
‘That just… that just isn’t possible,’ Snufkin says and he sounds unlike himself, like a stranger speaking when his words are so unsure.  
  
‘Oh.’ Little My reels back herself. ‘He didn’t tell you that either…’  
  
Snufkin holds the end of his scarf, just for something to do with his hands as he tries to sort his thoughts out into neat little lines. It’s a trick- a cruel one, mind. But Little My has never been one for the kinder pranks and what else would she do with what she knows about him?  
  
If anything, Snufkin should be surprised it took her this long to use it as a stick to beat him with at all.  
  
‘Did you know anything?’ Little My pushes and Snufkin can’t answer that, which is an answer in itself really. ‘Surely you must’ve noticed that much!’  
  
‘You shouldn’t make such gossip up,’ Snufkin tells her finally, aiming for stern but it comes out a lot shakier than he intends. ‘Especially about things that serious.’  
  
‘He really didn’t tell you,’ Little My says again, ignoring him and Snufkin can’t stop thinking about that horrible, horrible thing she’s said. ‘But why else would he leave if-'  
  
Thinking about coming back, but no one would be here because-  
  
‘Stop it!’ Snufkin snaps, unusually harsh and it startles both of them. ‘That’s enough of this wretched joke. I won’t hear any more of it.’  
  
Snufkin walks past her and leaves the coffee after him. He leaves the kitchen and nearly goes straight out the front door before remembering his boots. Groaning to himself, Snufkin changes course and sits down in the wet patches left on the floor to start pulling them on.  
  
‘Hey, don’t just scarper!’  
  
Snufkin tries to tie his laces faster but his hands won’t listen to him properly. He growls to himself irritably before giving up, standing and wrenching the door open. It’s still pouring outside, in fact if anything it looks worse and Snufkin is half way out the door before something snags his smock.  
  
He turns to see Little My behind him, grabbing it with two little hands.  
  
‘Please let me go.’  
  
‘No, not yet. Not until I’ve shown you something.’  
  
‘I don’t want to see it,’ Snufkin says and takes his smock in hand and gives one solid tug. It’s enough to get it out of Little My’s grip, but it does nearly send her flying out onto the veranda. Snufkin storms off, out from the awning and into the rain.  
  
The ground is completely sodden; it’s been raining so long. It is most certainly going to flood again and Snufkin tries to focus on that, focus on where he might need to go as the stream is swelling next to his camp. Snufkin slips in his boots, loose from being untied and nearly falls a few times, but he keeps his eye on his camp and keeps going.  
  
He’ll pack it up once he gets to it. Pack up and leave again, walk up to the mountains and Moomintroll isn’t even here to be disappointed. He’ll never know he missed Snufkin at all and once the rain stops, Snufkin will come back and they can-  
  
Snufkin is knocked over by something and falls face-first into the mud.  
  
Little My rolls off him as he pushes himself up, knees sinking into the soft earth. He rubs the worst of it off his face best he can with the back of his hand, looking at where Little My is standing up in an equal state of muddiness. His eyes fall to the book in her hand.  
  
‘You need to read this,’ Little My says, tossing the book at him and Snufkin catches it, only to recognise it as the one she’d taken from Moomintroll’s room. A diary.

Snufkin goes to protest, but Little My gets ahead of him, louder even than usual over the rain that pours down on top of them.  
  
‘Don’t get all high and mighty! You’ve never seen a _Keep Out_ sign you didn’t tear down, so what’s one more?’ she says and Snufkin clutches onto the diary, just for something to hold onto. ‘Don’t you want to know what he’s going to do?’  
  
‘He’ll tell me, if he wants to.’  
  
‘Tell you like you told him, is it?’ Little My says and her bun is beginning to sag, weighed down with rainwater. ‘Don’t you want to know for certain?’  
  
‘Know what for certain?’ Snufkin asks but Little My just points to the diary.  
  
‘Read it,’ she tells him. ‘I’ll leave the door open for you when you come back.’  
  
‘Maybe I won’t.’  
  
Little My doesn’t reply to that. She turns and starts making her way back towards Moominhouse and Snufkin sits in the mud, holding the diary to his chest tightly. It’s a soft bound thing, waxed but not as safe from the rain as it could be. He stares down at it, his hat saving it somewhat from the downpour.  
  
Snufkin thinks of Moomintroll and everything Little My has said, her words so sharp it makes his anxiety bleed. He wants to know. But he doesn’t. Not if it’s true. What if it’s true? Could it be?  
  
Snufkin can’t look.  
  
The diary will be ruined in this, though and Snufkin stands up, slogging his way back towards Moominhouse as Little My predicted. He presses it to himself as he goes, feeling claustrophobic by the rain, and the sucking ground, and the looming shadow of Moominhouse that towers over him.  
  
It can’t be true. It can’t be and she must be making it up and Snufkin keeps telling himself this as he walks through the veranda, where the door is indeed open for him. He doesn’t need to read it and see because he knows it already.  
  
Inside, Little My is sitting on the side of the stairs through the bars. Snufkin stands in the threshold, muddy and dripping with the diary pressed close.  
  
‘Go on then,’ Little My tells him with a nod. ‘You’ve come this far.’  
  
Snufkin could just put it down. He could leave it on the floor, place it on the table and walk right back out into the rain and Moomintroll need never know about any of it.  
  
But Little My’s words are a stone in his shoe, something rattling in his head and he doesn’t let the diary go. Instead, he looks down at it. Sees Moomintroll’s own hand across the front in boxy letters. _Private._  
  
What would Moomintroll do? Silly question, Snufkin knows he’d read it. He wouldn’t be able to resist. But that doesn’t make it right as it’s not Moomintroll, it’s Snufkin and what will Snufkin do?  
  
‘But before you make any decisions,’ Little My adds, getting up, their eyes meeting across the room and Snufkin feels a deep, bone-set understanding settle between them then. ‘Think real hard about it. Because Moomintroll isn’t like you. He can’t put things down just because they’re too heavy to carry and I won’t have you breaking his back. Or anything else for that matter.’  
  
Snufkin understands what she means so clearly then it wounds him. ‘A promise broken is worse than a promise not made.’  
  
‘So don’t make a promise you can’t keep,’ Little My finishes for him and Snufkin tries to remember where he heard that first, but finds he can’t. All he’d known right then was that Little My would’ve heard it somewhere, too.  
  
Little My leaves him, heading up the stairs and Snufkin looks at the diary and thinks about what he’s going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _softly_ : cats outta the bag now
> 
> i mean who doesnt want a chapter of the mymble children just... being themselves i guess lmao
> 
> we are so _so_ close now. needless to say, it rained all week here when i was writing and thus
> 
> playlist addition for the day: _disarm_ by the civil wars


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! Sorry if I haven’t replied to you yet, I’m promise I shall ♡ Please know they mean so very much and I am so dearly grateful

It’s rolling into the third day when Moomin sees his parents walk through the wood, onto the path to Mymble’s house. They wave at him, armed with an umbrella each in the rain that still pours.  
  
‘Moomintroll!’ Papa cries, running ahead of Mama towards where Moomin is perched on the cottage roof. Moomin has his own umbrella strung up as a makeshift awning. Papa looks up at Moomin, tipping his hat back and squinting. ‘In the name of all that’s white and Moomin, this is where you’ve been? We've come out as a search party for you!’  
  
Moomin tilts his head, considering them both. 'Really?'  
  
'A party of two is sometimes all the party one needs,' Mama says, joining Papa at the front of the cottage. 'What's kept you all this time?'  
  
‘Tree came down,’ Moomin starts to explain, needlessly pointing to what’s left of said tree after a solid day of hacking away at it with Mymble’s blunt ax. ‘I said I’d stay and help the Mymble’s daughter put her house back together.’  
  
‘Even from you, that’s an improvement,’ Mama says kindly, so much so it takes Moomin a second to realise it’s not quite the compliment she makes it sound like. ‘What an awful thing to happen. Where is poor Mymble’s daughter?’  
  
Moomin reaches for another slate to put down. Now that he looks his patchwork of new slates does appear a tad crooked.  
  
‘With her mother, too?’ Mama continues curiously and Papa groans loudly with obvious disappointment.  
  
‘Goodness, the Mymble is here? She’s not going to visit, is she?’ he asks and Mama takes his hand reassuringly.   
  
‘The Mymble’s daughter has gone looking for berries for lunch,’ Moomin answers, starting to hammer away at the next slate anyway. Crooked or not, it’s a job done and he should at least get credit for doing it in the rain. ‘We think Little My is at the beach at Mymble’s house. I haven’t actually found her yet.’  
  
‘I would think not. They must have passed each other, she arrived back this morning,’ Mama says as Papa starts to rub at his chin thoughtfully in a manner that promises a grievance to poor Moomin's nerves.  
  
‘I’m not sure that’s the best plan for a slate roof-'  
  
‘She’s back?’ Moomin asks, nearly dropping his hammer. ‘Back at Moominhouse?’  
  
‘Yes, dear,’ Mama says, face hidden under her umbrella as she looks around. ‘You know, I think your father is quite right. That doesn’t seem like the best method for slating the roof. Why don’t you let him take over?’  
  
‘Take over?’ Moomin repeats dumbly, but Papa is already perking up.  
  
‘Splendid idea!’ he says, slapping his paws together. He walks over to the ladder Moomin has set against the cottage with purpose, closing his umbrella as he goes. ‘Show you how a true Moomin craftsman works.’  
  
‘Indeed,’ Mama agrees, looking up to Moomin again. ‘And you can head home. Perhaps you’ll finally ask Little My about that book of yours.’  
  
‘Yeah… yeah, I think I will!’  
  
Moomin switches with his father, letting Papa take his place. Moomin almost leaps from the roof in his excitement, the ladder shifting in the mud but he manages to get down without incident. He takes Papa’s umbrella from where he left it and stops to give his mother a kiss on the cheek for her cleverness.   
  
On the way back, Moomin feels like he’s walking faster than he’s ever walked with a heavier weight than he’s ever carried. On the one hand, there is the need to get to Little My before she manages to open her blabbermouth to anyone. On the other, it will require talking to Little My and inviting the inevitable brow beating she’ll toss his way.   
  
She’ll demand the truth, if she doesn’t know it already. She might have him say it anyway just for the horrid satisfaction.  
  
He thinks about what the Mymble’s daughter said. At this rate, everyone in the valley will know before Snufkin does. If he ever does, that is.  
  
As Moomin walks back down to the meadow, his eyes are drawn as they always are to Snufkin’s tent. He stops in his tracks, spying that the rainfly has been put up since he last saw it and then Moomin is running.   
  
‘Snufkin!’ he calls over the rain, losing grip of the umbrella as he goes so rain comes down on him. There’s no answer but that tent can be awful loud under rain. ‘Snufkin, you’re back!’  
  
Moomin reaches the campsite and calls Snufkin again, but there’s no answer. He mustn’t be in, but Moomin looks at where Snufkin’s pack has been left under the rainfly where it stretches over, where Snufkin’s fishing rod is always placed. Strange, Snufkin wouldn’t leave these here if he were to go far…  
  
Sometimes, Moomin gets a feeling of terrible premonition. Like when he swims a little too far out at the beach and he can feel the grab of the ocean’s current at his feet, just enough to remind him that he could be swept off at any time by something larger, deeper and completely out of his control.  
  
Moomin gets that feeling, right now, as he looks from Snufkin’s tent up to Moominhouse.  
  
‘Please no,’ Moomin says and he runs, runs through the long grass and the heavy mud. The rain soaks him through to his skin.  
  
Moomin drops the umbrella at the door and bursts into the house, looking around and freezing with one foot in and one foot out as he spots Snufkin standing in the living room.  
  
‘Snufkin!’ Moomin says, half-relieved and half… not.

Something isn't right. Snufkin doesn’t even flinch from the sudden commotion, he just stares at Moomin with eyes very round and Moomin begins to register everything about him.

‘Snufkin, you look… well, if you don’t mind my saying, you look terrible.’  
  
Snufkin must’ve had a very hard time wherever he was, rumpled and with boots not even laced. Rainwater drips from his hat as Moomin notices he's sodden as well and covered in mud. There even seems to be some in his hair, turning it a dark colour but already drying in places like clay. There’s mud on Snufkin’s nose, on his smock and even his… his hands…

‘Oh… oh no, no.’ Moomin reaches out, ice cold with dread and he shakes all over from it. ‘Snufkin, wait...’  
  
Snufkin turns his wrist, more pages fluttering open of the diary in his hands and he looks down, face hidden by his hat. He touches the open pages with his fingers and when he speaks, his voice is very quiet; ‘Moomintroll, what is this?’  
  
'Nothing,' Moomin lies back quickly.   
  
Snufkin twitches, from his shoulders to his toes and Moomin rethinks.  
  
‘You were never supposed to see it,’ Moomin says desperately, though of course it’s too late for that now. Snufkin looks up and his face is like something cracked open.  
  
Moomin has always wished, but has never wished more than now, that he could see what Snufkin is thinking just from the look on his face.  
  
'Is that supposed to be better?'  
  
'Yes! No? It's- I don't know, the truth?' Moomin replies, crumbling under the frightful emotion in Snufkin's eye. He's never seen anything quite like it.   
  
'The truth.' Snufkin sucks his bottom lip in, as though steeling himself. 'The truth being you never wanted me to know.'  
  
'Snufkin, no, that's not quite-'  
  
'Until I'd find out for myself, of course. Next Spring perhaps,' Snufkin continues, quiet but steady to himself and Moomin hates that. He hates when Snufkin shuts him out of the conversation like Moomin's words don't even matter.

'Don't do that,' Moomin says, hurt by it. 'Don't be all- you know.'

'No, actually,' Snufkin huffs, flustered suddenly. 'I do not know. How am I?'

'All-' Moomin waves a paw uselessly. '-huffy.'

'Huffy?' Snufkin says, voice hitching and he's clearly offended now. Which Moomin thinks is distinctly unfair and nearly says so but Snufkin continues; 'Well, don't allow me to bother you any further. I'll go.'

Snufkin goes to walk but Moomin steps to the side, blocking his path and Snufkin quickly backpedals, putting distance between them. He tucks the diary closer to himself, as though afraid Moomin might take it from him. 

'Oh, for goodness' sake! I didn't mean it like that!' Moomin despairs but Snufkin says nothing. Just goes red; blotchy like sunburn along his nose. 

Snufkin thrusts the diary out towards Moomin. It's quiet between them, only the rattling noise of the rain outside the house. 

‘What is this?’ Snufkin asks again, firmer. Moomin flinches.

'You shouldn't have read it, you know! It's private, how would you feel if-?'

Snufkin takes a breath, cheeks going puffy. 'Moomintroll. Tell me what this is. Please.'

Moomin hesitates still, before groaning in defeat.

‘It’s… an itinerary.’

‘I can see that. Who’s itinerary?’

'It... it's not important right now.'

'Not important,' Snufkin echoes and he frowns, right down the middle of his nose. 

'How did you even get it?' Moomin asks, pointing to the diary though of course as he says it, he knows. Moomin scoffs. 'Little My. Of course, that awful, wretched- oh, I knew she'd do this. I knew it.'

'You knew she wouldn't keep your secret for you? If so, then you should know that she did for the most part. It was me who read the diary. She can't have made me.'

'No, but I bet she was pretty sodding convincing all the same,' Moomin says because Snufkin can say what he likes, but Snufkin would never have looked for a diary he didn't know about. Wouldn't have even looked in one had he found it. Not unless someone told him he ought to.

'You shouldn't blame Little My for this,' Snufkin tells him like Moomin is the one being unreasonable. 

'I don't,' Moomin says, defensive as he most certainly does but Snufkin doesn't appear to be in the mood to hear it. 

'If you want someone to blame, then blame me,' Snufkin says and his words shake on the end. He stops, as though cut off and takes an unsteady breath. 'Little My certainly seems to think it my fault.'

'What? Why?' Moomin is confused but Snufkin just shakes his head, looking away.  
  
'I can't explain.'  
  
Moomin bristles. 'Can you try?'

'Is it me though?' Snufkin asks instead and Moomin wishes Snufkin would look at him. 'Is it my fault that you've decided to do this?'

‘I never wanted- I didn’t want you to find out this way,’ Moomin tells him and he could cry suddenly. He fears he just might and it’s all so devastating, the way Snufkin looks so small right now. ‘This is such a mess, I promise I was going to tell you- I’d tried before but…’

‘Tell me what,’ Snufkin says flatly. He looks back down at the diary. ‘That you’re leaving Moominvalley?

‘Snufkin, wait-'

‘Without telling anyone and with no intention of coming back.’

‘It’s more complicated than that,’ Moomin says because it’s true. ‘I wasn’t going to just up and leave. Not on my own anyway, I just- oh, goodness.’

Moomin laughs, completely breathless and really, so very upset. It’s only when the laugh is out of him that realises that maybe he’s not laughing at all.

’What do you mean?’ Snufkin questions but what Moomin means and what he wants to say aren’t matching up right now.

'I- I can't... I can't tell you,' Moomin manages to get out, though it's strained through his teeth. Now Snufkin looks at him, which is bloody typical. But Moomin almost wishes he hadn't as Snufkin appears so strangely foreign; his round, round eyes and long nose. How can someone so familiar be made so unknown by emotion like this? 

'I see.' Snufkin snaps the diary shut. 'One more secret.'

'Oh, right!' Moomin exclaims, angry suddenly and he gestures to Snufkin in a burst of frantic emotion. 'Like you don't have secrets, is it?'

Snufkin shuts down instantly, wilting inwards like a starved flower. It's like a light going out and Moomin knows he's said the wrong thing. 

'Snufkin, look, I- ugh.' Moomin rubs at his face with both paws, overcome and those tears threaten again in his eyes. He rubs until he fears his eyes may be red but at least Snufkin may blame that than anything else. 'I didn't mean it like that.'

It's silent again and Moomin wonders how it could be so miserable, saying nothing. How it could possibly be worse, though it is. Moomin looks around the living room, the strange dark of it as none of the lights are on except for a dying fire in the stove. It's like a shifting nightmare and Moomin wishes desperately he might wake and find none of it has happened at all.

'I don't lie to you,' Snufkin says eventually and it takes Moomin a second to register the words over the rain. He turns back to Snufkin, who's face is down and hidden again. 

'I never said you did. You just- you know.'

'Tell me.'

'You leave.'

'But I come back,' Snufkin replies, tense. Almost pleading. 'I tell you when I'll come and then I do.'

Moomin wants to argue the point. Wants to bring up any of the few times Snufkin has been late, wants to bring up the odd Autumn Snufkin has left without a word. All those times Snufkin has gone and left Moomin behind, left Moomin sitting and wondering and wondering and wondering...

But Moomin in this moment finds he can't. It suddenly feels rather cruel to even think of doing so.

‘Do you remember that day at the start of Spring, the day I asked you about the Nisse and her magic?’ Moomin asks, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘Well, I wasn’t telling you because of the magic. I was telling you because- because- have you ever done something you weren’t supposed to, Snufkin?’

Snufkin doesn’t answer, but he frowns a little and Moomin knows he’s not making sense when he really, really should be.

‘She cast a spell without meaning to,’ Moomin continues and it’s awful. Why is this so awful? ‘And I did something without meaning to as well. Last Winter, I woke up in the middle of my hibernation. And I told myself it was nothing, just a funny accident, but that… that’s not true.’

Moomin rubs at his face again, scrubbing at his eyes as they start to sting. He refuses to cry, not in front of Snufkin.

‘I realised something last Winter and it’s that- it’s that-‘

‘It’s what?’ Snufkin pushes and he’s getting quieter, as though shrinking.

‘The itinerary is for us,’ Moomin says, with his eyes tightly shut like it might protect him from the shame in finally admitting it. ‘I wanted to go with you. I want to go with you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about and that-‘ Moomin waves awkwardly towards the diary. ‘- that was where I’ve been writing it all down. I wasn’t thinking of leaving the valley, I was thinking of leaving the valley with you.’

It’s so incredibly quiet but now Moomin’s started, he can’t seem to stop himself. It’s like when the clouds finally burst after too many sunny days, the breaking of a dam from up the mountain river or some other great disaster that erupts. Moomin keeps talking, finds himself running out of breath as it all rushes from him.

‘It’s not enough for me to watch you go, even knowing you’ll come back. It’s not enough for me anymore,’ Moomin blurts out, all in a terrible heap between them and Moomin has to look away because bugger it. He’s crying. ‘I didn’t mean to change my mind. I never even thought it was something I could change my mind on, to be honest. But last Winter, Autumn even, it hit me that I’m not happy watching you leave every year.’

Moomin wants to look at Snufkin but finds he can’t bring himself to. He can’t face it yet; the disappointment, the frustration. Moomin knows Snufkin better than anyone. He'll bolt like a deer who hears the shot and Moomin can’t look such a thing in the eye. It hurts bad enough as it is.

‘And I couldn’t figure out why,’ Moomin says, lowering his voice as the embarrassment floods him. As the sheer horror at his own stupidity roils there like an angry tide. ‘No, actually. That’s not true. I just kept telling myself I didn’t know why but I do.’

‘Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says suddenly, interrupting and Moomin hears paper crinkling. ‘Don’t.’

Moomin looks at him despite himself.

Snufkin has his head down again, both hands gripping the diary too tight and Moomin can see the pages have been creased from it.

‘Do you… do really not want to know?’ Moomin asks, never feeling more worthless in all his life all of a sudden. It’s a deep, hollow feeling. Snufkin flinches, Moomin can see his whole body curl with it and Moomin realises something; ‘Or do you know already and you just don’t want me to say it?’

‘You couldn’t possibly- possibly- say it,’ Snufkin whispers and his voice is trembling. It’s so unlike him and Moomin steps closer, drawn as he always is. Snufkin doesn’t notice. ‘Not truly. Save yourself the trouble and don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘I couldn’t- we couldn’t, _oh!’_ Snufkin turns suddenly and he backs away, clutching the diary to his chest. Snufkin shakes his head, still hiding his face. ‘It’s too impossible.’

Moomin lets that sink into the quiet between them for a moment, before it becomes clear to him. Moomin retreats back from the small step he’d taken, eyes welling up all over again and this time, when he laughs, it truly is something wounded with a sob.

‘Oh. I see.’

Moomin laughs wetly again, slapping a paw to his cheek.

‘Great Groke, of course,’ Moomin says, almost hysterical with the realisation. ‘What a foolish troll, I’ve been.’

Nothing truer than that. Moomin had let himself get carried away, had let himself believe what everyone had told him despite knowing Snufkin better than anyone. Knowing more than anything himself that Snufkin could never have felt what Moomin feels. Impossible, Snufkin says, and Moomin has been so careless to let himself think anything else, just like the Mymble's daughter said.

Impossible, indeed. But-

‘You may as well hear it, anyway,’ Moomin says, wiping at his face like it may help. It doesn’t. ‘I’ve come this far and I could never keep a secret from you to begin with.’

Snufkin finally looks up. Moomin doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so scared in their life. So much so, he almost changes his mind to say anything. Almost.

‘Snufkin-'

‘Don’t,’ Snufkin says again, turning his slight little body to face Moomin again. Moomin’s throat hurts from the tears and everything hasn’t said yet and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what Snufkin looks like in this moment. ‘Don’t say anything you’ll regret.’

‘I regret it every day,’ Moomin confesses. ‘But only because I know it might hurt you.’

‘Not as much as I might hurt you,’ Snufkin tells him and Moomin sniffs. 

'You could never,' Moomin says fondly as he is. So terribly, wretchedly fond.

’I’d never want to,’ Snufkin replies fiercely, so unlike his usual quiet self. ‘Which is all the more reason to stop this now.’

’Not much stopping it, I think.’

’You only think that now,’ Snufkin says gently and he’s not smiling, but Moomin feels the warmth come off him anyway. He always can, when he pays attention. ‘But believe me, you will do a much better job of it than a scruffy Mumrik. You deserve it. So keep your heart safe for it.’

’Keep my-? Snufkin, that ship has well and truly sailed,’ Moomin replies faintly and Snufkin’s face pales. ‘And taken my heart along with it.’

’Moomintroll, stop.’

‘I won't keep it from you any longer,’ Moomin answers him.

‘I wish you would,’ Snufkin says to that and it’s so horrible a thing to hear, Moomin feels it like a blow. 

‘Do you really?’ he asks, voice weak in his throat. 

Snufkin wrings his hands over the diary, curling in over it like something put in a fire too hot. ‘Moomintroll, please. I can’t bear to hear what you will never say twice. Better to never hear it at all.’

Moomin freezes, completely thrown. Snufkin raises a hand to his face, covering his mouth as he looks away again.

’What does that mean?’

‘You shouldn’t say it, Moomintroll. You’re too good a creature. If you say it, you’ll think you have to mean it forever and you could never, not with me and I would never ask you to anyway.’

Moomin thinks he’s made a mistake somewhere, because none of that makes any sense.

‘What makes you think I couldn’t mean it?’ Moomin asks, frowning but Snufkin doesn’t answer him. His small hand is still clasped over his mouth, as though physically stopping himself from speaking any further. ‘Snufkin, please look at me.’

Snufkin closes his eyes and gives a small shake of his head.

‘Snufkin,’ Moomin says softly, crossing over the room.

He reaches out and takes Snufkin’s narrow wrist in his paw, gently guiding it away from Snufkin’s mouth. Snufkin cracks his eyes open and Moomin can see how shiny they are. Like brass buttons. Moomin keeps his hold on Snufkin’s wrist, soft and warm.

‘Do you… can you tell me?’

Snufkin seems to stop breathing for a second, holding his breath. Moomin touches Snufkin’s shoulder with his other paw, feeling the small shivers going through him.

‘Please, Snufkin,’ Moomin asks again, heart beating so, so quickly. ‘Tell me.’

‘I can’t,’ Snufkin says, his accent thick on the vowels and oh, how Moomin has always loved that. He’s loved, and loved, and loved. ‘You should pick someone else, you must know you should pick someone else.’

‘Who says?’ Moomin moves his paw so his fingers link together with Snufkin’s. ‘Can’t I pick for myself?’

It’s like rain after too many sunny days. The bursting of the mountain river dam. A great natural thing that erupts. As sure and wonderful a thing as when something has just gotten too big and needs new room to grow.

‘Because I pick you,’ Moomin says and Snufkin ’s eyes close again, but there’s something less terrible about this time. Snufkin’s whole body sinks closer, his hand a heavy weight in Moomin’s paw and one Moomin wants to carry for some time. ‘I pick you, Snufkin.’

‘Please,’ Snufkin says, oh so quiet. ‘Please, if you don’t mean it-'

‘I mean it,’ Moomin says earnestly, other paw moving to Snufkin’s waist. ‘I mean it now, I meant it when it started and I fear I may mean it to the very end.’

Snufkin lets go of the diary and it falls to the floor with a soft flump. His hand presses, palm up against Moomin’s chest. It settles as a steady, shivering thing over Moomin’s heart.

‘I… I mean it, too,’ Snufkin say at last and Moomin grins, giddy quite suddenly as though something has exploded inside of him. A firework in every possible colour. Snufkin squeezes his fingers around Moomin’s and tugging Moomin closer so they are pressed together. ‘With every fibre someone can mean anything.’

‘I couldn’t ask for more than that,’ Moomin says and he can’t stop smiling. He wishes Snufkin didn’t look so miserable about it all but it’s so dreadfully in character that Moomin can’t stop laughing at it. Snufkin doesn’t seem all too impressed.

‘What are you laughing for?’

‘Sorry, it’s just- you look so serious.’

‘This is a serious thing.’

‘Yeah, I know, I know! But I’m so chuffed about it myself it’s hard to remember. And you’ve got mud on your nose. Not quite how I pictured this would go.’

If possible, Snufkin looks even more profoundly displeased and it only serves to make Moomin laugh outright. Moomin lets go and snakes both arms around Snufkin’s waist, pulls him as close as he can come. Their noses come near. Moomin’s laughter goes out like a candle, heart in his throat. He’s so close to Snufkin’s face, he must be nearly cross-eyed.

‘Can I kiss you now?’ Moomin asks which isn’t what he’d planned on saying, but he wants to all the same. Has lost track of how long he’s wanted to, really. Snufkin jumps like a spider.

‘Oh.’ Snufkin leans forward, retreats back again. He’s like something teetering on the edge of the cliffs. ‘Perhaps. Yes, I think.’

‘You’re not sure?’

‘No,’ Snufkin says but his hands go very tightly into Moomin’s coat so it stings a little. ‘Which makes me want you to do it all the more really.’

‘You’ve no fear,’ Moomin says and he’s dithering now, dragging it out because what if it isn’t- isn’t what he’s been thinking it might be? What if Snufkin isn’t sure because he doesn’t fancy it?

None of those thoughts are enough to stop the way Moomin’s heart is pounding with the ache to try anyway though.

‘You’re the brave one,’ Snufkin says, eyes dropping down to the end of Moomin’s nose. It’s a kick in the gut, in the best possible way. ‘You always have been really.’

‘Brave or stupid. Or something.’

‘Or something,’ Snufkin repeats quietly and maybe it’s how small he sounds, or how utterly lovely he is to look at it, but Moomin is leaning forward with his eyes closed before he can stop himself.

Their noses come together and Moomin has never done this himself before. He’s kissed Snorkmaiden’s cheek, has seen his parents do this a million times but nothing quite prepares him for how warm he suddenly goes. He goes hot like a kettle proper boiled over.

Snufkin has so small a nose, so small a face really that Moomin feels like he can feel him all over the end of his nose. When Moomin pulls away after a long few seconds, he can’t even bring himself to open his eyes. He’s quite breathless really, and he may forgive his parents for how embarrassing they are if it’s going to feel like this every-

His thoughts stop dead in their tracks as he feels the strangest sensation of Snufkin closing the distance again and pressing what feels like his lips to the end of Moomin’s nose.

Moomin’s eyes snap open to see Snufkin has retreated again, furiously red in the cheeks. Moomin’s heart turns itself over like a pancake, going warm on both sides when he realises what Snufkin must’ve done.

‘Was that a Mumrik kiss?’

‘Of the like,’ Snufkin replies, muffled and fiercely embarrassed it seems. ‘Couldn’t seem to be helped.’

‘I hope you never look to help it,’ Moomin says earnestly and starts laughing again. Snufkin frowns at him. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just- I’m just really happy.’

Snufkin blinks at him, reaching his hands up to pat Moomin’s cheeks. He goes soft all over, fitting so well really where Moomin holds them together.

‘Splendid creature.’

Moomin tightens his grip and lifts, Snufkin squeaking from surprise as Moomin spins him. It’s too much, too suddenly and Moomin feels they’re about to topple but he just manages to keep them upright. One of Snufkin’s boots is lost in the turn and Snufkin is laughing at him; that breathless, merry noise that Moomin wishes he’d make always. What a thing to do, to make Snufkin laugh like this.

They’re still both laughing by the time someone comes down the stairs over the commotion.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Little My snaps at them from the banister. She peeks at the pair of them through the bars.

‘Laughing,’ Moomin says brightly, Snufkin still held up in his arms and Snufkin ducks his head, but he’s grinning. ‘You should try it sometime.’

Little My continues frowning, before she makes an exaggerated hacking noise from the back of her throat.

‘Hemulen tails, you’ve gone and done it at last!’ she says, miming illness again. ‘You should keep those things private, you know. Nobody wants to see that!’

‘Quite right, so if you wouldn’t mind excusing us,’ Moomin says and Snufkin laughs out loud again. Moomin doesn’t think he’s ever been gladder of a noise in his life.

Little My does not leave them. Instead she manages to throw a handful of pebbles at them that come from Groke knows where. She never seems to be without anything she can toss in Moomin’s direction if properly motivated. The small stones hit Moomin squarely on his side, too light to make much of an impact but the sentiment is clearly felt.

‘You’re both absolutely revolting, I hope you know that,’ Little My says primly, above such nonsense it appears. ‘You better finish what you started here as well, I’m not sitting through another hundred seasons of either of you crying about the other.’

‘I never cried!’ Moomin snaps, defensive as he’s most certainly done so. Many times. But he doesn’t want Snufkin to know such a thing.

Moomin puts Snufkin down, glancing at him to see his face has gone blank again. That Snufkin look that tells Moomin he’s thinking about something far away and likely too complicated for Moomin to understand. The expression is aimed at Little My, who’s looking at him right back. It only lasts a moment or so, but Moomin feels like the two have just had a whole conversation without him knowing.

And then it’s over. Little My makes another unpleasant gagging noise before running off back up the stairs. Moomin waits a second, considering before deciding that he doesn’t care. Nothing could matter compared to this, anyway.

‘So,’ Moomin says, starting brave but an awkwardness creeps in as Snufkin meets his eye. They’re standing apart now and Moomin isn’t sure how to ask that they… not be. ‘What now, then?’

‘Must there be something now?’

‘Well… I’d like… I mean.’ Moomin fails at a reply miserably, getting flustered and he fluffs up despite himself. He goes to pat it down, trying to play it off as scratching his neck. ‘Gosh, you know what? I really have no idea.’

Snufkin shrugs his shoulders. ‘Neither do I.’

‘But you always have a plan!’

‘Do I?’ Snufkin asks, tilting his head and Moomin snorts.

‘Never having a plan is a plan in itself,’ Moomin says and Snufkin hums, pinching his chin.

‘In that case,’ Snufkin says, holding a hand out. Moomin takes it, squeezing too hard he knows but Snufkin doesn’t seem to mind. ‘Let’s just carry on and see where the day takes us.’

‘The day will take us into the rain.’

’We’re already wet,’ Snufkin points out and Moomin has to kiss him again.

He does so quickly, too quickly and they bump together awkwardly but it feels delicious. Like a tart berry, like a warm coffee, like- like-

Like something too gorgeous to ever be full of.

Moomin is holding his breath as their noses are pressed together and he lets it out as they pull away, holding Snufkin so tightly like he might vanish.

‘Well, in for a penny, I suppose,’ Moomin says and he means the rain but Snufkin goes sly, narrow eyes and a slanted smile.

’Let’s spend the penny then. And the pound, too, for good measure,’ Snufkin teases and he slinks away, hands running down Moomin’s arms to take his paws.

Snufkin pulls Moomin out into the rain, into the dark evening that pulls around them like a blanket. And Moomin kisses him again, and again. And again until Moomin begins to wonder if he’ll ever get the smell of Snufkin’s skin after rain out of his lungs and hopes he never does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they did it
> 
> today’s addition is _all ive ever known_ from the hadestown soundtrack


	10. Chapter 10

Saying goodbye that evening is an ache, but at least the rain seems to be letting up somewhat.  
  
They’d walked as far as the wood, taking shelter under the trees and trying to look at the lightning overhead. Every now and then, the wood would glow with the blue light and Moomin would see Snufkin’s face, brown and lovely, then gone into the dark again.  
  
Now, the sky has mellowed and the noise eased. The rain closer to mist than not. It appears the storm is over.  
  
They make their way back to Moominhouse. Moomin has spent the evening listening to Snufkin explain the storm, watching the rain run into his hair and smelling it off his skin. His nose every time they kiss.  
  
Which they have done. Quite a bit, actually. So much Moomin isn’t entirely sure how to stop.  
  
‘Can I kiss you again?’ Moomin asks at the door where Snufkin has walked him. Snufkin shakes his head, grinning.  
  
‘You’ve kissed me several times.’  
  
‘Let’s make it eight, then.’  
  
‘What will we do tomorrow if you keep this up?’  
  
‘Hopefully try my paw at eight more?’ Moomin suggests and Snufkin chortles, looking at Moomin with something Moomin dares to call fondness. ‘Why don’t you stay the night?’  
  
Snufkin’s eyebrows fly up, under his hat. ‘My, my, Moomintroll. How forward.’  
  
‘Not like that! Not unless- no, I meant- you know, just like top to tail?’ Moomin’s fur sticks up on end as embarrassment floods him. ‘No, scratch that! That’s worse.’  
  
‘Dear me,’ Snufkin says, before leaning forward to kiss Moomin again.  
  
Truth be told, Snufkin isn’t very good at kissing. Not Moomin kissing anyway. His nose is too narrow perhaps and pointy, and Snufkin presses a little too hard with it. Moomin is so stunned every time though he doesn’t care one bit. If anything, he almost wishes Snufkin never learn to do it proper. It’s like a kiss only they can do.  
  
‘There. That makes eight,’ Snufkin says and Moomin is delighted, until he realises.  
  
‘You’re bribing me,’ he points out and Snufkin makes a small moue with his mouth, feigning a seriousness that he certainly doesn’t feel for his eyes are bright with a mischief that betrays him.  
  
‘Not a bribe. Merely sweetening you up.’  
  
‘Because you won’t stay.’  
  
‘Because I won’t stay,’ Snufkin confirms and he’s already starting to pull away. ‘It’s so late though I may as well have. Better for us both to rest now.’  
  
‘Do I have to?’ Moomin asks, laced with a nervousness he doesn’t want to think about. Snufkin doesn’t seem to notice, as easy and loose-limbed like this were a fine Summer afternoon.  
  
‘No, I suppose not. But I do, I have things to do tomorrow,’ Snufkin says and Moomin sags with disappointment.  
  
‘What kind of things?’ he asks but Snufkin just shrugs.  
  
‘Laundry, at the very least,’ Snufkin says, looking down at his muddy smock. ‘I must thank Little My for that. Indeed, I may thank her for a few things.’  
  
Snufkin looks up for Moomin to laugh at his joke, but Moomin can’t quite bring himself to. Moomin wrings his paws together, anxious. ‘I thought maybe you’d want to do something together tomorrow.’  
  
‘Together?’ Snufkin frowns, before he makes a small squeak. He goes red, jumping as though shocked by the lightning. ‘Oh. Yes. I suppose that is to be expected.’  
  
‘Not if you don’t want to!’ Moomin says hastily, closing their distance again. The whole evening has been like a very strange dance of stepping close and leaning away. ‘If you need the day to yourself, then you should take it.’  
  
‘Are you sure?’ Snufkin doesn’t sound convinced himself and frankly, Moomin isn’t quite either.  
  
‘Of course,’ he says anyway, forcing a smile. ‘We don’t have to spend every minute together, I guess.’  
  
Much as Moomin might like to presently.  
  
‘Isn’t that what couples are supposed to do?’ Snufkin asks before he realises what he’s said. Moomin can’t answer, stunned as he is and Snufkin reaches out to grab the brim of his hat and tug it down over his face. ‘Oh! That is… if that is what you would like.’  
  
‘You want to be a couple?’ Moomin says, just to be very sure he’s understanding properly because the way his heart is thundering in his ears, he’s worried he might’ve misheard.  
  
Snufkin tugs his hat down more so it resembles a bonnet more than anything, voice mumbling; ‘I thought that is what you meant. Before.’  
  
‘It is!’ Moomin hurries to say, reaching out to take Snufkin’s hands in his paws. He eases the hat out of their tight grip, holding them in earnest as Snufkin looks at him nervously. ‘I just wasn’t sure that was on the cards. Be this with me-‘ Moomin squeezes Snufkin’s hands, feels the small little bones of them. ‘- sure, I can just about believe that. Just. But it’s not quite the same as being a couple, is it?’  
  
‘Isn’t it?’ Snufkin asks, frowning. ‘Why not? Aren’t they one in the same?’  
  
‘Not quite,’ Moomin says, uncomfortable and not entirely sure why. ‘For starters, one has a name and the other doesn’t. I didn’t think you’d particularly fancy a name.’  
  
‘What does that matter? Don’t you want to name it?’  
  
‘I’m just happy having it,’ Moomin says because it’s true and looks at Snufkin’s hands, his dry cracked knuckles and muddy fingers. ‘More than that, really.’  
  
Snufkin seems to think about that for a long moment, before; ‘That’s not what I asked you.’  
  
‘Look,’ Moomin says, meeting Snufkin’s eye and tugging him closer by the hands. ‘None of that matters. You are you, and I am me and whatever this is, it belongs to us, right? So who cares about supposed to, or what couples should do or don’t do or any of that. Let’s just do what we do.’  
  
Snufkin closes his eyes, breathes deep and squeezes Moomin’s fingers. ‘I wish you could see.’

’See what?’

’The way I see you.’

‘It’s not too bad having you tell me,’ Moomin says and he kisses Snufkin again, can’t believe really that he gets to do that anytime he fancies it. ‘Though I feel I must tell you that I’m going to miss you tomorrow. You only just got back and I love it when you’re back.’  
  
‘And every time I go, it’s one more time for me to come back,’ Snufkin says, breathy and they’re still kissing but it’s a lazy, shifting movement together. Moomin feels like he’s plunged beneath water, the air is so thick in his lungs and he can’t breathe with the affection that burns inside of him.  
  
Then it’s over as Snufkin starts to move away, not quite smiling but Moomin knows it’s gentle. Knows it’s kind. That soft, lovely look on Snufkin’s face doesn’t need to be a smile for Moomin to know that now.  
  
‘Goodnight, Moomintroll.’  
  
‘Goodnight,’ Moomin says and Snufkin tips his hat, like this were any other evening and starts to head back to his camp.  
  
Moomin stands at the front door, watching Snufkin too long before the chill of his sodden fur gets to him. As though Snufkin just being near had been enough to keep him warm all this time. Inside the house, Moomin leans back against the door and suddenly starts laughing to himself.  
  
How strange. How absolutely ridiculous.  
  
‘What’s got you giggling?’ Papa asks from where’s sitting in the armchair, eying Moomin suspiciously over his book. ‘Pleased with yourself for getting out of the work on the Mymble’s daughter’s roof, is it?’  
  
‘No one got out of anything. The better craftsman simply took over,’ Mama says diplomatically as she sews. ‘And what a marvellous job you did, too, my dear. We didn’t see you on our way home, Moomintroll. Did you manage to have a pleasant day despite the storm?’  
  
‘Pleasant?’ Moomin says and he’s still laughing to himself, quietly running out of breath as he remembers what it’s like to kiss Snufkin with thunder roaring in his ears. ‘Better than that. Brilliant day, I’d say. The best.’  
  
‘How good,’ Mama says, tugging on the stubborn string in her embroidery. ‘Did you find Little My in the end?’  
  
Moomin closes his eyes, content. ‘Not quite. Found Snufkin instead.’  
  
‘Lovely,’ Mama says and Moomin can’t see, but she looks at him with great satisfaction. ‘Better head to a nice warm bed now though, love. Wouldn’t do to catch cold, worse again to give it to someone else and Snufkin must be in a bad enough way himself.’  
  
‘Right, right,’ Moomin says, heading up the stairs and realising what Mama has said too late. He pauses half-way up, opening his mouth to ask before deciding against it. He’s not quite ready to say anything about it yet.  
  
In his room, Moomin walks over to the window and throws it open. Snufkin has a fire lit, his clothes hanging from a drooping but manageable line he’s drawn between his tent and a nearby tree. Snufkin must be in his tent, the lantern light low but there.  
  
The rain has finally stopped. Not even the wind feels cold anymore as Moomin leans on the windowsill, head in his paws and thinking. It may even be sunny tomorrow, the way the stars are beginning to make themselves known again as the clouds roll away.  
  
Summer is starting at last, Moomin thinks, sitting by the open window until the lantern goes out at the tent before heading to bed.  
  
Sleeping as he is, Moomin doesn't notice when the lantern turns back on. As though someone is still awake, regarding a layout of cards with a frown and listening to the wind change direction.

Sleeping as he is, Moomin doesn't notice a thing.  
  
  
*/  
  
  
The next morning, Moomin runs to his window and looks out to see Snufkin throwing his smock on. Moomin opens the window just as Snufkin turns to look at Moominhouse. They’re too far apart to say anything that might be heard, so Moomin just waves. Snufkin waves his hat over his head and Moomin can just about see he’s grinning. Moomin smiles back, the day off to an excellent start.  
  
Moomin waits at the window until Snufkin vanishes into the wood, off to do his own adventure for the day and tries not to let the disappointment bite him too much.  
  
Moomin heads downstairs, right into the path of Little My whom he nearly trips over and suffers greatly for it as she sinks her sharp, little teeth into his ankle.   
  
'Was that really necessary?' he calls after her as she scarpers up the stairs, cackling madly.   
  
Moomin leaves the house, standing before the meadow and wondering what to do with himself. He's saved too much agonising as Mama comes for him shortly to ask him for assistance in weaving baskets, the willow finally dried after all these weeks.   
  
Moomin tries to focus, but he ends up weaving quite a few lop-sided baskets. Mama doesn't ask, which Moomin is grateful for though the truth is bursting from him. He's like a stray bubble from the bath, ready for the right word to prick him and it all pops forth. He nearly says something, every now and then, before losing his nerve.   
  
He would rather Snufkin were with him before he says anything, if Moomin were to have a choice.  
  
But the day slips away and Snufkin doesn't come back.   
  
Moomin takes a long walk, picks flowers the house truly doesn't need but he picks enough for several rooms. Mama seems pleased either way, Papa baffled as he walks into the kitchen well after dark to see Moomin is still awake sorting flowers into vases.   
  
'Something troubling you, son?' he asks, regarding the veritable garden his kitchen table has become.   
  
'Why would you think that?' Moomin asks with a cheer he doesn't feel, cutting a little too vigorously so an unfortunate tulip loses its head.  
  
'No reason at all. Lovely bouquets, my boy.'  
  
Eventually, Moomin retreats for the night and ends up sleeping late through to morning. When he wakes, he's back at the window, staring down at the camp. It's empty but the campfire is still smoking. Moomin looks around what he can see of the meadow from his window, but there's no sign of Snufkin.   
  
He must've gotten up early and wandered off again. It feels like swallowing water that's too cold, from somewhere deep and dark underground when not expecting it.   
  
Little My seems entirely out of patience by now.   
  
'I swear to the Moon and back, that if you don't just go and get whatever bee is in your bonnet sorted, I'm going to send in a wasp,' she warns viciously at where Moomin is lying across the end of the veranda on his back, staring at the awning with his paws hanging off the step. She's walked out, tossing her favourite ball up and down.  
  
'I don't have a bee in my bonnet.'  
  
'Maybe you need something else to buzz over,' she says, hopping up to the railing and walking along it towards where Moomin lies. 'Don't you have a boyfriend to do exactly that with now?'  
  
Moomin huffs miserably. 'Snufkin's not my boyfriend.'  
  
'Oh, my apologies!' Little My says, sarcasm dripping all over him from where she leans over the railing to look down at him. 'I must've confused him with the other Mumrik you were snogging out in the rain the other day. Careful now, you don't want to make anyone jealous!'  
  
'Must you be- well, _you?'  
  
_ 'Some of us are blessed as perfect to begin with. Not everyone has to try to so very hard and muck it up quite as often as you seem to,' Little My says and Moomin tsks, unimpressed with her boasting. 'So, go on then. How'd you manage getting dumped so quickly?'  
  
'I haven't been dumped,' Moomin snaps, defensive because he's only relatively confident of that. He's pretty sure Snufkin would've said if that were the case, one way or another.   
  
'You've just been left here. Alone.'  
  
'Did you actually want something or did you just come over here to kick a poor troll when he's down?'  
  
'Kicking you when you're down is no fun, really,' Little My says, looming over him and dropping her ball. It hits Moomin right on the forehead and he glares, loathing her. 'What's the point if I don't get to watch you fall and land on that big, fluffy behind of yours?'  
  
'Charming,' Moomin tells her, rubbing at where her ball hit him. 'If you must know, I'm waiting.'  
  
'Waiting?' Little My suddenly groans, dragging it out like a toddling babe so it's a near whine. 'Oh Great Groke, not this again! Is your whole life going to be spent just moping around, waiting for Snufkin to show up and tell you what to do?'  
  
Moomin blushes, cheeks puffing up with it as he's not quite sure how to answer that when the answer is simply _Yes, actually._  
  
'Get up,' Little My says and when Moomin doesn't move, she jumps down on top of him so he's winded. Moomin jumps, curls in where she's landed but she's already off him and kicking his side with her pointy boots.  
  
'O-hoo-ow!' Moomin tries to slap her with a paw, but she gets a good kick in between his ribs. 'Ow, ow, ow! Quit it, will you!'  
  
'Get up off your fat, lazy tail and go find Snufkin!'  
  
'Why? Maybe he doesn't want to see me!'  
  
'Then he'll tell you to sod off, like I am!' Little My says and her kicking tips Moomin over the step of the veranda, tumbling down onto the grass. 'You can't keep waiting for him to make the first move. Look where that's gotten you all this time!'  
  
Moomin stands up, rubbing where he's most certainly bruised under his pelt. She really does kick so very hard. 'Why do you even care so much?'  
  
'It's about the principle.'  
  
'What principle?'  
  
'You wouldn't know,' Little My says, crossing her arms and smirking at him. 'You're never right about anything.'  
  
Moomin tries to think of something to say to that, but Little My has a look in her that tells him if he tries she might do something worse than kick him and he's still nursing the bite from the other day. Instead, Moomin decides he's going to walk South for the day, through the meadow and maybe pick up some more flowers. His tulips did look a touch lonely.   
  
He's not looking for Snufkin. He wouldn't give Little My the satisfaction. But that doesn't stop Moomin from stopping in his walk through the rolling meadows, where the grass gets so tall it's nearly to his chest when he hears the bellows of a mouth organ along the wind.   
  
Moomin follows the sound, heart stopping when it vanishes suddenly and he turns, scanning the shifting grass and dotted flowers for a sign of Snufkin. For it must be Snufkin, who else?  
  
The tip of a green hat appears, just a little ways down and Moomin is running before he can stop himself, the grass parting like water as he goes.  
  
'Snufkin!'

'Moomintroll!' Snufkin cries, looking up and smiling brightly. Snufkin is cross-legged on the grass, harmonica in hand and a small rag in the other. Moomin hovers, not sure what to do now as he's not entirely sure what he was expecting.  
  
Snufkin pats the grass next to him. 'Join me, yes?'  
  
'Um. Sure?' Moomin replies and he sits down. Snufkin returns to what he's doing, bringing the harmonica to his lips and giving a few blows. Not quite a song, but not quite something random either. 'What are you doing?'  
  
'Needs a thorough clean,' Snufkin says, shaking out the rag. They're close, but not touching and Moomin feels itchy all over with a nervousness to be so but not knowing how to ask. 'But I'm doing my best with what I've got right now.'  
  
'Right, right,' Moomin says, not really listening as he's too busy looking at Snufkin's face. At his nose, all scrunched up in concentration. 'But I meant, you know, out here.'  
  
'Composing,' Snufkin answers, beginning to scrub at the inside of one of the chambers. Snufkin nods around them. 'The grass makes a fine companion to a worthy melody.'  
  
Moomin holds his breath and listens. Listens to the way the tall, wiry grass whispers together in the light breeze. Now that they're sitting, it stands just over their heads and it's like being underwater. Moomin lets his breath out, heart skipping with the fondness that overwhelms him then.   
  
'Only you would think of that.'  
  
'Perhaps. But I'm all I need, I suppose.'  
  
Snufkin adds a small hum of concentration, taking his rag away to bring the harmonica to his lips. He plays a quiet, windy thing that makes Moomin feel like he's arrived late to a conversation, missing a joke that makes Snufkin laugh. Oh, he's in a very bad way if he's going to be jealous of the grass.  
  
Once Snufkin finishes, he looks to Moomin expectantly. 'What do you think?'  
  
'Not my favourite,' Moomin admits and Snufkin makes a small _hmph_ noise, wiping the harmonica with his rag. 'Not yet anyway. I'm sure you'll manage it all the same.'  
  
'Must be losing my touch,' Snufkin says, clearly teasing but Moomin ignores the joke.

‘I thought you might have called by,’ Moomin says instead and Snufkin leans closer, but is still focused on his harmonica it appears. 'I was near the end of my tether without you, I must say.'  
  
‘Don’t be daft, you were quite fine and look, here you are,’ Snufkin says brightly, blowing on the harmonica where he’s polished and Moomin sighs at how clearly Snufkin misses the point.  
  
‘That’s not really what I mean.’  
  
‘Then what do you mean?’ Snufkin asks, rubbing at the edge of the harmonica before he stops suddenly. He looks at Moomin, who flushes instantly with dread at the startled look on Snufkin’s face. ‘Oh. I’ve done wrong, haven’t I?’  
  
Moomin stammers. ’N-no! Not _wrong,_ I wouldn’t say wrong-’  
  
‘But you would mean wrong,’ Snufkin interrupts, eyes going dark and Moomin feels quite out of step suddenly. Snufkin looks out over the grass, his small hand gripping the rag so it bundles. ‘You told me we would do as we do.’  
  
‘I- yeah, I did,’ Moomin replies, completely thrown. When Snufkin speaks again, it’s quieter.  
  
‘And I was as I always am,’ Snufkin says in that wounded tone and Moomin’s stomach drops. ‘I didn’t think I had to call by.’  
  
‘And you didn’t! I’m just saying I thought you might’ve.’  
  
‘Why?’  
  
Moomin doesn’t want to answer that. This whole thing is making him sound remarkably needy and he shuts himself down for it. ‘Never mind, eh? Like you said, I’m here now.’  
  
‘Never mind,’ Snufkin repeats, clearly dubious but he doesn’t push. He’s never done before in times like this when they were friends and Moomin doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so disappointed when Snufkin doesn’t now they're decidedly not.  
  
They sit in the quiet that has somehow become awkward and Moomin is trying not to panic about that. Snufkin is awfully focused on his harmonica and Moomin wonders if Snufkin knows that Moomin has noticed he’s cleaned the same chamber three times now.  
  
‘Snufkin,’ Moomin finally says, reaching over to stop where Snufkin is about to clean said chamber for the fourth time. ‘Would it be alright to kiss you now?’  
  
Snufkin blinks at him. ‘Are you going to ask me every time?’  
  
‘Think so, yeah.’  
  
‘That’d be a terrible bother.’  
  
‘How so?’  
  
‘You’d waste a lot of time,’ Snufkin says and there’s humour in his voice and Moomin is so relieved, his eyes genuinely water. As though some great coil inside of him has come undone and he sags. ‘I’m not a creature of permissions, you know.’  
  
‘I think a kiss is a fair thing to ask permission for,’ Moomin says but he’s leaning forward anyway. He stops just before they meet, stuttering like an old steam engine. ‘This is harder than I thought it would be, you know.’  
  
‘Kissing me?’ Snufkin asks, raising an eyebrow and it makes Moomin laugh despite the stone sitting in his chest.  
  
‘Well, that’s part of it,’ Moomin says and the moment has passed as he moves back, sighing. ‘Being with you is so easy. Has always been so easy that I guess I just thought this would be easy, too.’  
  
‘I see,’ Snufkin says thoughtfully and he puts the harmonica down. Finally, Moomin thinks. Snufkin bends his knees, wraps his arms around them as he looks at Moomin. ‘Is it not easy now?’  
  
‘Do you think it’s easy?’  
  
‘I think it’s you,’ Snufkin says, putting his head down on his knees so he’s looking at Moomin sideways. ‘Sometimes you’re easy. Sometimes you’re hard. Sometimes downright impossible.’  
  
Moomin isn’t sure how to take that. ‘And which am I right now?’  
  
‘Easy,’ Snufkin says with a small smile. ‘How you feel is written all over that Moomin snout of yours.’  
  
‘Come off it, no it isn’t!’ Moomin says and he blushes instantly, looking away like that might hide how the fluff on his cheeks stand on end. Moomin jealousy wishes he could hide the way Snufkin can. ‘I guess I’m just not sure how to make it different yet.’  
  
‘Must it be different?’  
  
‘Well, the kissing is different and I’m really intent on keeping that part of it up. So yeah, I think it’s fair to say it’s going to be different,’ Moomin replies, patting at his cheeks in the hope his blush may calm down. It doesn’t.  
  
‘You could do a better job of it, I suppose,’ Snufkin says blithely and Moomin shoots him a look, deeply unimpressed. Snufkin shrugs. ‘For all this kissing you want to do, I have yet to get one today.’  
  
‘Oh, yeah? Well, maybe you should kiss me!’ Moomin retorts, half-in jest, whole-in earnest.  
  
‘Maybe I should,’ Snufkin says, before he unfolds like an envelope. He leans forward, pressing his nose right into Moomin’s and Moomin freezes, going hot all over so his fur shivers like a river. Snufkin sits back, obviously chuffed. ‘How’s that?’  
  
‘I think I could do with another,’ Moomin tells him and he pushes up, right into Snufkin so they both roll over.  
  
Snufkin lands on his back, laughing as Moomin suddenly looms over him. He’s entirely in Moomin’s shadow now, his hat off his head and crushed beneath him. Moomin stares down at him, bubbling over inside with a hot, sticky affection. Like caramel, like syrup and Moomin is so happy he can taste it in the back of his throat.  
  
‘You’re lovely,’ Moomin says and Snufkin stops laughing, looking up at Moomin with eyes the colour of chestnuts. Moomin leans down, kisses Snufkin properly, as a Moomin should. Soft and light, not a poke in sight.  
  
Moomin moves, kissing along Snufkin’s cheek and smelling him there. He smells of cooked fish, of grass and the metal tang of his harmonica. Moomin breathes deep and wishes he could carry this smell with him all day.  
  
Snufkin turns his head, perhaps intending for his Mumrik lips to meet Moomin’s cheek but the way Moomin is, he misses considerably. He lips meet Moomin’s lips, just at the corner and Moomin goes very still, heart suddenly pounding like a drum stretched too thin for the stick that hits it.  
  
A hand comes up, taking Moomin by the cheek and at first, Moomin thinks Snufkin is pushing him away but Snufkin just holds him steady, holds him where he is as Snufkin shuffles a little beneath him. And this time, when Snufkin’s lips meet Moomin’s, Moomin knows it’s no accident.  
  
It’s the most surreal, baffling sensation to have someone’s lips against his own. Foreign in every sense save for the creature who’s doing it. Snufkin. These are Snufkin’s lips, Snufkin’s mouth that Moomin has looked at and listened to and oh, Moomin hasn’t a sodding clue what he should do-  
  
Acting on an instinct that blooms inside from nowhere, Moomin purses his lips and pushes back.  
  
Snufkin hums- _he hums!-_ and Moomin’s tail whips unbidden, making him shake all over as Snufkin’s hand slips down Moomin’s neck, around it and pulls him closer. It’s terribly awkward, Moomin’s nose is getting quite squished against Snufkin’s temple but it’s very hard to care about that the way Snufkin’s lips move.  
  
Like he’s trying to say something, like he’s trying to breathe but none of it is as important as having his mouth pressed to Moomin’s.  
  
Moomin gets a paw to Snufkin’s face, strokes a padded finger along the swell of it and Snufkin gasps suddenly, his mouth open and Moomin can feel his hot breath on his lips and _oh._

There’s a warbling, warm sensation in the pit of Moomin’s stomach. Like hitting one’s funny bone, right inside and all Moomin can think about is how he feels like he’s missed a step, like he’s falling steeply and the remarkable sensation of Snufkin’s parted mouth. 

It’s too much. Far, far too much and what it’s too much of Moomin simply can’t say but the fact is he suddenly can’t bear the thrill any longer as the fizzling, twisty energy it inspires deep inside of him threatens to take over. If he's honest, it scares him. Just a little.  
  
Moomin pulls back, chest heaving like he’s run the distance from here to the beach and back again. He stares at Snufkin, mouth open but nothing to say as Snufkin opens his eyes, blinking slow and lazy like he’s woken from a pleasant slumber.  
  
‘There,’ Snufkin says and he’s breathless, reedy like his harmonica in the back of his throat.  
  
‘What?’ Moomin asks, completely dumb from the adrenaline that still pounds.  
  
‘Now I’ve kissed you. Just like you asked.’  
  
‘Right,’ Moomin says, dazed. ‘Please feel free to do so again. Just maybe a bit of warning next time?’  
  
Snufkin grins, all crooked so one of his teeth sticks to his bottom lip. The bottom lip that had been pressed to Moomin’s bottom lip. The one Moomin now knows how it _feels._ ‘Are you telling me I need permission?’  
  
‘Not permission.’ Moomin shakes his head. ‘Invitation to just not give me a heart attack.’  
  
Snufkin looks far too pleased with himself at that.  
  
‘I’ll consider it.’

Which is absolutely Snufkin for _No, I shan’t._ Moomin doesn’t mind, not even a little bit.  
  
Around them, the grass shuffles and shifts like a curtain with the wind. They move around as they begin to talk, the dam broken now for touching though Moomin still hasn't worked the nerve back up to kiss him again. Snufkin sits, Moomin's head in his lap as he moves along with his cleaning of the harmonica, listening with a smile as Moomin talks.  
  
If Snufkin grips a little bit too tight, eyes wandering over the horizon to the North, Moomin doesn't notice nor mind. For it's quite lovely all the same, to have Snufkin as close as this. Even when not looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's addition: _blue caravan_ by vienna teng  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

There is roughly one, glorious month of sneaking out the window early and slipping past the veranda in the night. Of long, lingering kisses by the creek under flush June trees- before Moomintroll decides to upset the apple cart. 

‘But,’ Snufkin says, a touch pinched. ‘Why do you want to tell people?’

‘I can’t even begin to tell you why that is a mad question to ask me,’ Moomintroll replies, yanking on particularly stubborn cabbage.   
  
They’re kneeling in Moominhouse’s vegetable patch- or rather, Moomintroll is. Snufkin is sitting in the wheelbarrow where said cabbages are heading towards, feet swinging off the lip of it.

‘Surely people will just figure it out? I don’t see why we have to make it some sort of announcement.’

‘I’m not saying we roll out the bunting,’ Moomintroll says, grumbling and reaching for his trowel to help. ‘But the only reason we’ve gotten away with it this long is because Little My finds us incredibly boring. She’s going to think us a lot more interesting at the end of the month when Snorkmaiden arrives for Midsummer.’

‘Why would that make a difference?’

Moomintroll looks up at Snufkin, eyes wide and Snufkin knows that look. It’s the look that tells him he’s just said something not quite good. Snufkin hasn’t seen it in a while.

‘Are you actually asking me that?’

‘I’m not asking the cabbages.’

‘What do you think Snorkmaiden is going to say when she sees us?’  


Snufkin doesn’t want to think about that even a little bit. ‘Who says she’s going to see us? I’m not going to Midsummer.’  
  
Moomintroll’s face quickly shifts from the _Not Quite Good_ look to the _Definitely Not Good_ look.  
  
‘No, but you’re not going to avoid me for the whole week she’s here, are you?’  
  
‘Um,’ Snufkin replies. ‘No?’  
  
‘Wanna try that again? Maybe even mean it this time,’ Moomintroll says, digging his trowel in with a little more force than necessary. One of the cabbages leaves suffers for it. ‘I don’t want to pretend. It’s like lying and I don’t want to lie, she’s my friend!’  
  
‘We’re not lying to anyone now,’ Snufkin points out, reaching into his pocket for his pipe to distract himself from the nagging feeling in his chest. ‘It’s just no one has noticed. Not quite the same thing.’  
  
‘Of course no one has noticed, have we actually hung out with anyone than each other this last month?’ Moomintroll asks, finally getting the cabbage free of its root. ‘We’re sneaking around.’  
  
‘You’re sneaking around. I’m perfectly happy.’  
  
‘Oh yeah?’ Moomintroll says, looking at Snufkin over his shoulder. ‘Pop in there and tell Papa for me then, you’re so perfect.’

Snufkin focuses on stuffing tobacco into his pipe and Moomintroll stands, wiping dirt off the end of the cabbage.   
  
‘Thought as much,’ Moomintroll adds, finishing his inspection of the vegetable. 'We're sneaking. I know it. You know it.'  
  
'Well, you don't have to,' Snufkin says, hearing himself the edge to his voice as he fishes for matches. 'I never asked you to.'  
  
'I never said I was doing it for you,' Moomintroll retorts, standing with the cabbage awkwardly in his paws. Snufkin gives him his own look as he pops his lips on the bit of his pipe. 'Okay. Fine. Maybe I was doing it a bit for you.'  
  
'Like I said,' Snufkin says, pipe lit. 'I didn't ask you to do that.'  
  
'But you prefer it, right?' Moomintroll replies, as though daring Snufkin to contradict him. 'I get it, you know. I rather liked having you all to myself as well.'  
  
'You always have that,' Snufkin says through a breath of tobacco and meaning every word. Moomintroll smiles, the fondness on his face too much to look at so Snufkin doesn't. Sometimes it's rather like looking at the bright Summer sun.  
  
'Don't try to distract me by being lovely.' Moomintroll stands over Snufkin in the wheelbarrow, giving it a small kick. ‘This was for the cabbages, you know. Shift.’  
  
‘I’m comfortable,’ Snufkin says, tipping head back and stretching a little to stick the point. Strictly speaking, he really isn’t that comfortable but it’s rather the principle of the thing.  
  
Moomintroll leans forward and Snufkin does, too on new-habit with his eyes already closing in anticipation. But the kiss doesn’t come and Moomintroll plops the cabbage down onto his stomach. Snufkin looks down at it, disappointed.  
  
Moomintroll brushes the dirt of his paws. ’We need to tell everyone, Snufkin. Or at the very least we’re telling Snorkmaiden.’  
  
‘Which is the same as telling everyone,’ Snufkin mutters unhappily, looking away at where Moomintroll’s ears flick in his direction. ‘I just don’t see the point in making such a terrible bother over it. Can’t we just carry on as we are?’  
  
‘I don’t want to hurt her,’ Moomintroll says and he’s back down for the next cabbage, Snufkin left to watch the back of him. ‘We didn’t break up all that long ago, you know. She’ll feel I should’ve told her sooner.’ Moomintroll sits back, clearly considering. ‘Maybe I should’ve done.’  
  
‘Why? It’s none of her business,’ Snufkin says, bristling at the very notion.  
  
‘It’s not really about that, Snuff,’ Moomintroll says, getting back to the cabbages. ‘We were coupled for a long time. She deserves to at least hear it from me and not from Little My just because she’d find it funny.’  
  
Snufkin concedes that point with a small hum, displeased and takes another bite of his pipe to clear the sudden sour taste in his mouth. Moomintroll rises with another cabbage, smiling with triumph until he sees Snufkin’s pipe. He waves a paw dramatically for smoke that isn’t even blowing in his direction.  
  
‘Must you?’ Snufkin shrugs and Moomintroll puts the cabbage down with the other on top of him. ‘If you think I’m kissing you after that, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’  
  
‘You wouldn’t be so heartless as to do a thing like that,’ Snufkin says after blowing another smoke ring. Moomintroll watches it rise and vanish, before shaking his head.  
  
‘I can be convinced around it.’  
  
‘Oh?’  
  
‘If you agree with me that we’ll tell Snorkmaiden once she arrives’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin inhales his smoke the wrong way, eyes watering.  
  
‘We?’ he repeats, horrified. ‘Why on earth do I need to be there?’  
  
‘Because you’re my- well, you know,’ Moomintroll says awkwardly, holding a paw out towards Snufkin as though offering him some kind of excuse that makes sense. ‘My Snufkin.’  
  
‘All the more reason I shouldn’t be there,’ Snufkin replies, before adding bitterly; ‘She was your Snorkmaiden first, anyway.’  
  
Moomintroll’s ears flatten, a definite warning sign. ‘That’s not very fair.’  
  
Snufkin sighs through his nose, not even having the will to puff his pipe. He takes it from his mouth, a pinch in his chest. He tries to ignore it, but suddenly he rather wishes he wasn’t quite so awkwardly placed. Harder to walk off now.  
  
‘Look.’ Moomintroll leans down, properly this time and gets a paw to Snufkin’s cheek. He tilts Snufkin’s face, meets his eye. ‘I know you, okay? I know that sitting with Snorkmaiden, or my parents or anyone and talking about feelings isn’t your idea of a fun time. Especially if it involves… our feelings.’  
  
Snufkin shuffles in the wheelbarrow, quickly slapping a hand down to catch a rolling cabbage before it falls.  
  
‘But this is important to me,’ Moomintroll says and he moves his thumb, something he tends to do over the apple of Snufkn’s cheek and it makes Snufkin’s breath hitch every time. ‘You’re important to me and I want to share that with everyone who matters to me.’  
  
Snufkin isn’t sure how to explain the closed in feeling that brews inside him like coffee burning. Coupling with Moomintroll had seemed so impossible before and then when it happened, Snufkin can’t help but feel it only did so because of how very small it feels when just between the two of them.  
  
Small like a kiss or a kind word. Small in the way all the best things are.  
  
But telling everyone? It doesn’t feel right but Snufkin doesn’t know how to say that. It feels so much like… an expectation. Which is silly, of course. It’s silly, Snufkin tells himself.  
  
‘Please, Snufkin,’ Moomintroll adds when Snufkin still doesn’t say anything and Snufkin takes a small breath, coming back to himself. ‘Do this for me.’  
  
Snufkin licks his lips, thinks about it all and- and-  
  
‘All right,’ he says and the way Moomintroll’s face clears, oh. How heavy Snufkin feels with the guilt that suddenly bites him. ‘But you’re telling Snorkmaiden yourself. And I’m not asking anyone’s permission to court you.’  
  
‘I think the horse has bolted on that one, yeah,’ Moomintroll says sweetly, eyes bright he’s so pleased. ‘And I’ll talk to Snorkmaiden, I just want you near when I do, if that’s okay.’  
  
Snufkin nods tightly and closes a fist. He digs his nails into his palm until it stings.  
  
‘Now,’ Moomintroll says, pressing his nose to Snufkin’s and leaving it there, the kiss lingering and making Snufkin’s heart go tight in the middle like a knot. ‘Will you please get out of the wheelbarrow?’  
  
Snufkin pushes his face up, presses his nose harder to Moomintroll’s to chase off the frightful feeling inside. It thaws but his heart still beats too quick. ’My dear, Moomintroll. No. I shall not.’  
  
‘Right then,’ Moomintroll says, before dropping down and getting his paws beneath Snufkin and his legs.  
  
Snufkin yelps with fright as Moomintroll suddenly lifts him up, as though he weighs no more than a little bird. Moomintroll pulls him close to his chest and Snufkin drops his pipe in the kerfuffle, quickly throwing his arms around Moomintroll’s broad neck to keep his balance.  
  
‘Moomintroll!’ Snufkin gasps, trying for scolding but that goes quite quickly from his mind when Moomintroll presses his snout down, his nose beneath Snufkin’s chin. Pressing in close and warm down his neck, his chest. ‘Oh, you- you!’  
  
‘Me what?’ Moomintroll says between kisses, sounding entirely too smug and in so lovely a thing as this, Snufkin quite forgets what it was he’s to be nervous about at all.

  
  
*/

Snufkin wakes to the sound of the wind rushing around his tent.

It’s so loud, so fierce that he panics at first waking, shuffling around in the dark and not seeing the flapping walls of his tent for what they are straight away. He tries to catch his breath, hand to his chest and he takes a moment to adjust to the night. 

Just the wind. Just a bad dream, Snufkin realises but he doesn’t lie back down. Instead, he takes his smock up from the corner and throws it over his head, clambering out of his tent.

The wind flies around him, sending his smock up to his hips and his hair about his face. Snufkin looks over the top of his tent, staring North where the wind bales down from. No rain, not this time, but again that unusual cold for this time of year. 

It’s too early, Snufkin thinks. But that doesn’t change the fact of it. It's beginning to settle inside of him anyway, an antsy pinch in his mind like shoes too small. The Summer greenery has just started and already... Sometimes the weather can be so strange. 

Sometimes a mind can, too. Changeable. Snufkin wishes it weren’t so, wishes he could shed the uneasiness that turns inside of him. As it is, Snufkin suddenly feels like his heart is some poor, unfortunate fish on the spit, rolling over a flame too hot.  


‘Not yet,’ Snufkin says to himself, ducking back into his tent. 

A Mumrik is bred for a great many things. For narrow spaces, hot days and even sneaking on quiet feet. They are also bred for a wandering, a seasonal shift but not by any measurable seasons that a year may have. Snufkin isn’t to live his life by Spring or Autumn, or any of them. 

But he does choose to, regardless. And he will choose this, too. It is simply one more thing Snufkin will decide not to listen to. 

No matter how incessantly it knocks on his door. 

  
*/

On the high meadow where the wild freesias grow pink around him, something very large and fluffy lands on Snufkin’s stomach, disrupting him from the light doze he’d fallen into.

‘I’m moving out.’

‘Are you now?’ Snufkin says, tipping his hat up to look down at where Moomintroll has laid his head atop him. ‘And where would you go?’

‘Somewhere Little My isn’t?’

Snufkin hums, reaching down to pick at a stray leaf that’s caught just below Moomintroll’s ear. ‘An ambitious goal. What has she done this time?’

Moomintroll frowns up at the sky, holding a paw over his face from where the yellow sun beats down into his eyes. ‘She took all the jams from the kitchen, so I went into her room to get them back. As I’m perfectly entitled to, mind, I’m the one who made them! She’s retaliated. Hidden it somewhere else and pulled a prank on me for good measure.’

‘Well, we can’t have that,’ Snufkin says, reaching for another leaf. Now that he looks, Moomintroll appears to be quite covered in them. Moomintroll makes a contented little noise as Snufkin removes another. ‘Is that why you look like you ran here through the thicket?’

‘I did, actually. Little My’s idea of a reasonable response was to unleash some unhappy bees in my direction.’

‘The poor bees,’ Snufkin laments and Moomintroll glares up at him.

‘Forget the bees! What about me?’

‘Yes, what about you?’ Snufkin asks, tugging on some stray twigs as well that have gotten entangled along Moomintroll’s arm. He watches the fluff there shiver from the sensation, a curious ripple and smiles. ‘We can’t have you walking around like this.’

‘You’ve walked around in worse.’

‘Leaves don’t show quite as plainly on green,’ Snufkin teases and Moomintroll laughs; a big, bright noise and covers his eyes with his arm. ‘Where do you think she might’ve put the jams?’

‘Positively no idea.’

‘You don’t seem particularly worried.’

Moomintroll cracks an eye open, looking crookedly up at Snufkin with a smile that slants down; ‘It’s in a box with a lock. Made it myself. She’s not going to be able to open it.’

Snufkin is fairly certain that if Little My wants that box open for the reward of sweet jam she’ll manage it, but he’s distracted by the curiosity.   
  
‘When did you learn to make locks?’  
  
‘Oh, a while ago now,’ Moomintroll says, turning back up towards the sky with his snout up. ‘Last Autumn, I think. Good for keeping things safe.’  
  
‘Or keeping things secret.’  
  
‘That, too.’

‘I didn’t think you had secrets so precious they needed to be locked up,’ he says to Moomintroll, who has started plucking twigs and leaves off his round belly himself.   
  
‘Well, I suppose I don’t really. Anymore,’ he replies, looking over to Snufkin. He ducks his hat down, hiding and doesn’t answer straight away. Moomintroll laughs again as Snufkin puts his arms behind his head own head. ‘I guess you don’t approve of locks on anything. Even secrets.’  
  
'Secrets don't need locks, just closed lips.'  
  
'I can think of a few other things in need of that,' Moomintroll says, purely teasing and Snufkin burns along his cheeks, but doesn't stop the way Moomintroll nuzzles his nose just under Snufkin's chin, kissing his neck and tickling.   
  
Moomintroll has gotten a little bolder as Summer has rolled in. It all has been circling around a very particular thought, like the Moon's orbit. Snufkin's figured something out by now. 

But Snufkin keeps quiet, perfectly happy to be so and to have Moomintroll here with him as he does. There's time, he keeps reminding himself.   
  
There's time.

‘Are you asleep?’ Moomintroll asks, rolling over a bit so his chin digs into Snufkin’s chest. 

‘Yes.’

‘Well, wake up. I want to talk to you about something.’

_How ominous,_ Snufkin thinks, but he waves a hand at the wrist above his head to signal Moomintroll to continue. 

‘You know my diary? Or what was in my diary?’ Snufkin tenses and Moomintroll notices instantly, close as he is. Moomintroll quickly sits up, but now both paws come down on Snufkin’s chest. Pinning him, like some exotic insect. ‘Don’t freak out again. I know you are but- but try not to, alright? Just for like a second.’

Snufkin makes no such promises though he’s not in much of a position to run off anyway. Moomintroll moves one of his paws to tap the brim of Snufkin’s hat.

‘Snufkin?’

Snufkin doesn’t reply but he doesn’t stop Moomintroll from moving his hat either. Snufkin’s heart squeezes in his chest at the look of sheepish worry on Moomintroll’s face, the anxious twitch of his ears and how closely he watches Snufkin back. 

‘I didn’t get the chance to talk to you about it properly. Not with… you know, everything else. Got a bit ahead of myself,’ Moomintroll continues and Snufkin chews the inside of his lip, craving his pipe some something to bite down on. ‘Mama’s always giving out about that, actually. Says I jump the gun when I should- well, whatever the opposite of that is. Dive under the shield?’

Moomintroll is rambling now and normally, that’s a very nice thing to sit and listen to but Snufkin can’t quite relax into it. He taps his fingers against his palm behind his head, where Moomintroll can’t see. Moomintroll has gotten so wise to those things now and Snufkin doesn't want to give anything away.

‘… Or what it was for, I only said that because I thought it made me sound clever, like you,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin starts suddenly, realising he hasn’t been taking a single word of it in. Moomintroll pats his chest affectionately. ‘Don’t be modest,’ he says, mistaking the movement evidently. ‘You’re very clever. Probably the cleverest person I know and I wanted you to think I was clever, too.’

‘I do,’ Snufkin replies quietly, but Moomintroll doesn’t seem to hear him and keeps talking. 

‘But I suppose the thing now is whether or not you fancy it. Because I suppose it's something that might come up once we start telling everyone about us,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin frowns, confused. Moomintroll leans back, paws dragging down Snufkin’s chest. Little white hairs stick to the fabric there. ‘Do you get what I mean?’

Snufkin shakes his head honestly and Moomintroll makes a small groan. 

‘Yeah, no. Fair enough. I’m not making much sense,’ Moomintroll says like it's his fault Snufkin wasn't listening. He claps his paws together and points them back at Snufkin, eyes wide. ‘Look, I know you have to leave-’  
  
‘Leave?’ Snufkin says dumbly, unheard.  
  
‘-every Winter, it’s fine! Really, it is. But frankly, it’s… it’s a wrench to watch you go,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin doesn’t know what to say.  
  
It’s like an early snow, a late summer heat- they’re having this conversation either too early or too late. Snufkin sits silently, wrong-footed and unsure. Moomintroll hadn’t brought this up last year.  
  
‘And I know we haven’t talked about it yet but I was wondering if- I don’t know, maybe you’d given it some thought? Outside of-‘ Moomintroll waves a paw between the two of them. ‘- this. Us, I mean.’  
  
Snufkin isn’t sure he understands entirely, but something starts to broach the horizon of the conversation. Snufkin sits up but Moomintroll doesn’t move; the two of them come close, so close Moomintroll’s nose nearly reaches Snufkin’s own.  
  
‘Because I have… I’ve given it some thought,’ Moomin says and his eyes flick up and down for a moment. Snufkin’s heart flips in his chest. ’And I think I might try something different this Winter. If you’d let me, that is.’  
  
‘Different?’ Snufkin repeats and his voice gets smaller every time he speaks. ‘How different?’  
  
‘What if I didn’t hibernate this year?’ Moomintroll says- blurts, rather. It all falls out of him like he’s been holding it for a very long time and Snufkin supposes too late that he has. ‘What if I did something different and I didn’t miss you, because I was… with… you?’  
  
Oh.  
  
There’s a thought.  
  
Snufkin swallows down the immediate _No_ that bubbles up his throat. He covers his mouth with one hand just to help do it. He looks out far at the meadow, all the way out to where the freesias thin and start to salt-white with tall chamomile. Moomintroll doesn’t push, just waits. As he is always so good to do.

Snufkin looks at him. The earnest, lovely expression on his face and feels a crack in the wall somewhere inside. He closes his hands into fists, gripping the grass beneath and eyes down. ‘I’ll… I’ll think about it.’

When he risks a glance back to Moomintroll, the troll looks more than pleased. ‘That’s all I’m asking.’  
  
Snufkin is reaching before he can stop himself. His hand floats, suspended between them like something in a web. Finger curling in, then out again and Snufkin keeps going until he touches thesoft fur of Moomintroll’s chest. Snufkin doesn’t realise he’s looking for a heartbeat until he feels it.  
  
‘There’s a new moon tonight,’ Snufkin says, focusing on where his hand blurs at the edges of white fur. ‘Will you be making a wish?’  
  
‘I don’t really make wishes,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin meets his eye. ‘What about you?’  
  
‘I only ever make one.’  
  
‘Do you keep making it because it doesn’t come true?’  
  
Snufkin retreats, shuffling away and getting to his feet. ‘I keep wishing so it stays true.’ Snufkin holds out a hand. ‘I think I might go for lunch. Come with me?’  
  
Moomintroll walks so close as they make their way back, Snufkin can feel his tail slip against the hem of his smock, tugging him in small directions as they go. Snufkin scares himself sometimes with how easy he gives in to where Moomintroll takes him.  
  
All things considered, Snufkin thinks one can’t really think of what sits inside of him as a secret. Secret implies it’s something he ought not to be keeping and Snufkin resents the idea of keeping anything he doesn’t need to to begin with. This is just something he isn’t sharing, the same way he might endeavour not to share the sniffles. 

The distinction is rather like the difference between where the stream meets the river, but Snufkin walks the line regardless.   
  
  
*/  
  
  
Moomin walks into his bedroom to find Snufkin there.   
  
Snufkin is leaning on the windowsill, his back to Moomin and staring up through the open window at the new moon waxing silver in the sky. Moomin pauses in the doorway, unsure. The room is dark save for where the moonlight pours in and it casts a long shadow from Snufkin to the tops of Moomin's feet.  
  
'Snufkin?' Moomin asks, but Snufkin doesn't turn to look. He doesn't move at all really and Moomin takes a step forward. 'What are you doing here?'  
  
Snufkin doesn't answer him, the wind blowing in through the window and Moomin shivers. It's suddenly quite cold. He hurries the rest of the way, joining Snufkin at the window. He looks at Snufkin's face, face lit with moonlight but his eyes are dark. Dark like coals.   
  
'I think I need to leave now, Moomintroll,' Snufkin says quietly, knuckles white on the windowsill where he grips it. Moomin's heart stops.  
  
'What?' he breathes, feeling ill. 'You... you can't. It's too early.'  
  
'No such thing as too early,' Snufkin says, looking at Moomin and smiling. Like this were any other conversation they could be having. 'Only too late.'  
  
'But it can't be too late yet!' Moomin says and Snufkin laughs softly. Moomin reaches out frantically, takes Snufkin's face between his two paws and Snufkin's laughter closes like a door. 'We've only just gotten started.'  
  
Snufkin's eyes are still so very dark, like Moomin could fall right through them. Snufkin raises his hands, takes Moomin's paws in each and pulls them away from his face. 'That doesn't matter, Moomintroll.'  
  
'Of course it matters!'  
  
Snufkin raises a hand, two fingers together and presses them to the end of Moomin's nose. Moomin's words run out and it feels frighteningly close to running out of breath. Like he can't breathe quite suddenly and his chest contracts, desperate for air. Snufkin pulls away from him and Moomin panics, trying to say something and failing. 

The best he does is grab for Snufkin's smock, getting the ends of it between his fingers as Snufkin pulls himself up onto the windowsill. Snufkin doesn't even notice, eyes out into the night. It's so black outside but for the moon that Moomin can't see anything but it and Snufkin.   
  
'Don't!' is all Moomin can manage, but it's not enough. Snufkin looks down at him, so incredibly fond and Moomin doesn't understand how one could love someone and leave anyway. 

'Goodbye, Moomintroll.'  
  
And then Snufkin leans backwards, falling out through the window into the nothing. Moomin can feel him slip through his fingers, like soap too slick or rope too thick to grip or water or smoke or-  
  
_'Snufkin!'_  
  
Moomin wakes himself up, he calls out so loud and he falls from his bed in a tumble of bedsheets and cold sweat. It has his pelt all clumped together in places and Moomin realises he's shivering as though ill. He looks around his room, so changed in the late night and he leaps to his feet, turning to his window.  
  
Moomin thrusts it open, looks out to see the familiar if night-shrouded shadow shape of Moominvalley below. Moomin looks straight for Snufkin's tent, sees it where it always is and tries to swallow around the unpleasant lump in his throat.   
  
It had felt so terribly real. It still does. Like that dark, empty nothing outside has followed him from the nightmare out. 

'Moomintroll?' a voice calls from below and Moomin jumps, startled. He looks down to see Snufkin, staring up at him with some pebbles in his hand. 'What are you doing?'  
  
'Me? What are you doing?' Moomin asks, wincing at the horrible itch in his voice. Snufkin raises his hand with the pebbles. 

'I came to wake you,' he says, his hat casting such a shadow so that Moomin can't see his face. It reminds him of his nightmare and suddenly Snufkin is too far away. 'I wanted to ask if I could stay in your room tonight.'  
  
That throws Moomin so entirely, he nearly forgets the unpleasantness of the bad dream. 'Oh! Uh- of course. Of course! Climb up!'  
  
Moomin throws down the ladder and waits for Snufkin. When Snufkin finally clambers in the window, Moomin is filled with such a great nerve to have him close he nearly knocks Snufkin back out through it as he launches himself into a hug.   
  
'Moomintroll!' Snufkin says, breathless from the way Moomin squeezes him. Moomin reaches up, tossing Snufkin's hat from his head to reveal his face in the moonlight. Snufkin's eyes are wide with surprise, but warm. Brown, familiar and Moomin has to kiss him. He has to.   
  
Snufkin makes a muffled sort of noise when he does as Moomin kisses him so eagerly, so desperate to be close and Snufkin throws a hand to the window-frame to keep his balance. Not that he needs it as Moomin is holding so tightly there's no chance of him going anywhere either way as their noses press so close it's hard to breathe.   
  
'I'm so glad you're here,' Moomin says when he finally manages to get some semblance of a grip on himself. He looks at Snufkin's face, his handsome face and only frowns a moment later. 'Why are you here though? It's the middle of the night.'  
  
'There's a bad wind lately,' Snufkin answers, nodding towards the window. 'Hard to sleep with it over the tent.'  
  
'Then you'd better sleep here.'  
  
'Yes, that was rather the plan.'  
  
Moomin leads Snufkin to the bed, getting in first and sacrificing a pillow to make space. If Snufkin notices the mess of the sheets, how they're pulled up on one side and crumpled down on the other, he doesn't mention it. He pulls off his scarf, kicks his boots under the bed and crawls in, smock and all.   
  
He and Moomin lie for a moment in the very tight space, keeping what one might consider a respectable distance if said person was not at all very respectable to begin with. Not that it could be helped, of course. It rather is a small bed.  
  
Moomin reaches to touch Snufkin's face, to trace the curve of his cheek. It's his favourite thing to do as it always makes Snufkin open his mouth, make a little noise like he's surprised and Moomin thinks it's the closest he ever gets most times to knowing exactly what Snufkin might thinking. How addictive a feeling, that is.  
  
'I want to tell you something,' Moomin says but Snufkin leans across the pillow, pressing his nose to Moomin's and nuzzling slightly. It stuns Moomin to silence.   
  
'Tell me tomorrow,' Snufkin says quietly, sounding half-asleep already. 'Anything you only want to say after a nightmare invites bad luck, you know.'  
  
'Right, right,' Moomin replies, dazed as Snufkin bundles down. He curls like a creep, his downy head beneath Moomin's chin and his hands on his furry chest. They're cold. 'How-how did you know I had a nightmare?'  
  
Snufkin doesn't answer, only burrows closer and Moomin lets him. He brings his arms down and around him, holding him close and listening as Snufkin's breathing mellows. Growing slow and even, like the tide and Moomin lets it lull him.

Lying together like this, Moomin can shuffle his face just a bit to get his lips to the top of Snufkin's head for a Mumrik kiss. Moomin still isn’t sure if he’s doing it right.   
  
When Moomin finally falls asleep, he doesn't dream. Snufkin, however, does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s still raining. with thunderbolts and lightning.
> 
> very very frightening.
> 
> p.s: the talented very adorable Jir has made some art to go with my story! please check it out, i am obsessed!!


	12. Chapter 12

Snufkin has jam on his nose and it’s driving Moomin absolutely insane.  
  
He’s tried subtly signalling with his own paw to his snout, but Snufkin just blushes every time and gives Moomin a quick, scolding glare instead of rectifying the whole jam on the nose situation. Moomin thinks Snufkin is rather getting the wrong end of the stick.  
  
Mind, at any other given time it would absolutely be the right end of the stick, so to speak- but Moomin’s hardly going to ask for a snog across the kitchen table in front of his mother of all creatures.  
  
Mama is lining trays with shortbread biscuits and Snufkin has been tasked with putting small dollops of raspberry jam on them for Moomin to then sandwich together, resulting in a lovely collection of jammy dodgers.  
  
Except Mama’s dodgers are beginning to look a touch asymmetrical on account of the fact that Moomin can’t stop staring at the blotch of pink, sticky jam on the end of Snufkin’s nose.  
  
How did he even manage that? Admittedly, Snufkin isn’t the most fastidious of people but really, this takes… well, the biscuit.  
  
‘Something the matter, dear?’ Mama asks, taking a fresh batch out from the oven and turning back to the table with the two of them. ‘You put those last two together upside down.’  
  
Moomin looks down at the dodgers in his paws, puzzled. ‘How can you even tell?’  
  
‘It’s obvious,’ Snufkin says, which is pretty rich coming from the fellow with jam on his nose. Moomin gives him a look, nettled with good humour.  
  
‘At least I’m getting the biscuits where they should be, even if upside-down.’  
  
‘What’d you mean?’  
  
‘Jam,’ Moomin says, giving up and he raises a paw, stopping himself halfway and settling for a point. ‘Right there. On your nose. How could you not have noticed?’  
  
Snufkin raises a hand, rubbing at his nose and coming away sticky with jam. He looks at Moomin, smirks like a creep in the cookie jar and licks the jam from his finger in one fluid motion. ‘Perhaps I’d done it on purpose.’

Moomin is very flushed all of a sudden and completely mortified for being so in front of his mother. It’s his turn to glare now as that was most certainly Snufkin trying to get back at him. Which is distinctly unfair as Moomin was only trying to help. Sort of.   
  
‘Don’t be rude to poor Snufkin, Moomintroll,’ Mama says serenely as she puts biscuits on the wire rack. ‘Especially after he so graciously agreed to help us with this. The Snorks should be here any moment now.’  
  
‘He only agreed to pinch some jam,’ Moomin says as it’s true but Snufkin just keeps sitting there, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Under the table, Moomin’s tail is looped around Snufkin’s ankle.  
  
Which basically means that Snufkin might be sitting there all prim and proper, but Moomin can feel the giddy tremor in his leg that tells Moomin that he’s definitely laughing underneath all that. Oh, the torment a Mumrik can be and Moomin can’t stop grinning now, holding back his own laugh.  
  
‘I would never pinch,’ Snufkin lies as he certainly would.  
  
‘Of course not, you’re always welcome to the pantry of this house so nothing you take would ever be a theft,’ Mama says, patting Snufkin kindly on the shoulder. Snufkin looks a touch disappointed, which only makes sense if one knows him like Moomin does.  
  
Not much fun if one's not actually stealing something, not for a Mumrik it seems anyway. Or maybe Snufkin’s just special that way. He’s special in quite a few ways, really.  
  
They’re all interrupted by a knock on the front door.  
  
Snufkin jumps like shocked, dropping the spoon for the jam so it clatters. Moomin’s tail whips back to his side of the table and they both sit up a little straighter in their chairs. The ease from a moment ago has vanished quite abruptly as they both realise who may be at the door.  
  
‘No need to look quite so worried,’ Mama says, pulling off her oven mitts. ‘You’re not in trouble yet.’  
  
‘Trouble?’ Moomin laughs nervously, glancing at Snufkin who is already reaching for his hat from the back of his chair. ‘Why would we be in trouble?’  
  
‘Why indeed,’ Mama says as she heads out.  
  
There’s a commotion in the other room. Papa and Spork speak the loudest, but there’s also the unmistakeable sound of Snorkmaiden, who laughs shrilly at what’s likely a compliment Mama has given her. Snufkin visibly shrinks in his chair. Any lower and Moomin worries he’ll fall to the floor entirely.  
  
‘Snufkin-'  
  
That’s as far as Moomin gets before Snorkmaiden walks right into the kitchen.  
  
She’s beautiful, is the first thing Moomin thinks when he sees her. She’s bright yellow, like a buttercup, like her hair used to be but now all the way down. She smiles broadly at Moomin, rushing over and tackling him with a quick hug and a soft press of her cheek to his.  
  
‘Oh, Moomintroll! You silly thing, what are you hiding out here for?’ she says and Moomin can feel the blush burst, all his fluff standing on end as she steps away. He’s painfully aware of Snufkin watching the two of them.  
  
‘I’m not hiding!’ He says, very nervous and not at all sure what to do about such. ‘Snufkin and I were just making biscuits together- _I mean!’_ Moomin laughs but it’s all rather high pitched and Snorkmaiden gives him a funny look. ‘Not together-together, I mean we’re just helping. Helping Mama, that is.’  
  
‘I can see. They look delicious,’ Snorkmaiden says kindly of the biscuits, before she looks to Snufkin. ‘Hello, Snufkin.’  
  
‘Hello, Snorkmaiden,’ Snufkin says flatly, head down so his hat is hiding his face.  
  
‘Are you well?’

‘Fine. And you?’  
  
‘Better than! What do you think of the yellow, Moomintroll?’  
  
‘Ahh,’ Moomin manages, completely caught off guard. He looks at her a bit closer and sees the yellow is flecked through with iridescent strands. Gold, silver, even small shimmers of blue. ‘Wow! It’s beautiful!’  
  
‘Fancy it suits then?’ Snorkmaiden says, turning this way and that so the sunlight from the window catches all over her.  
  
‘More than! You look wonderful. Doesn’t she, Snufkin?’ Moomin asks, looking to Snufkin and instantly regretting asking at all. Snufkin looks quite stony, but he gives Snorkmaiden a cursory glance over anyway.  
  
‘Very nice,’ is all he says but for the tone of it, Moomin feels like Snufkin may as well have stood up and walked out without saying anything at all.  
  
There’s a long moment of quiet between the three of them then. Too long, truly, for any of it to be polite.  
  
‘How was your trip here?’ Moomin eventually asks, desperate for something to break the uneasy silence. Snorkmaiden keeps looking at Snufkin as she answers, frowning a little.  
  
‘Oh, a great bother, of course! There’s not a thing to do that Snork can’t make into such with what he fancies might be a bright idea,’ Snorkmaiden sighs, flicking her head so her hair swishes daintily. ‘Went and invented a new compass. You can only imagine how that went.’  
  
Snufkin tips his hat back a touch. ‘How does one make a new compass?’  
  
‘With glass, wire and a very inflated sense of one’s cleverness,’ Snorkmaiden replies stoutly, tilting her head down so to look under Snufkin’s hat. ‘You’re looking well, Snufkin. Good fishing season?’  
  
‘Good enough,’ Snufkin says, suddenly embarrassed. Moomin can tell by the way his shoulders hunch up. ‘I think I’ve just been spending a lot time in the sun though.’  
  
‘Hmm. Maybe that’s it then.’  
  
‘What else could it be?’  
  
‘Goodness, can’t you just take the compliment?’ Snorkmaiden asks, slightly tight and Moomin stands up abruptly, causing both of them to jump.  
  
‘Let’s head outside!’ he says and Snorkmaiden tuts.  
  
‘But I’ve only just arrived,’ she replies and Moomin deflates. ‘I’ve been outside for hours.’  
  
‘It's such a nice day though!’ Moomin insists.  
  
‘Yeah, I know it is. Like I said, I’ve been out in since this morning.’  
  
‘Don’t you want a break from Snork?’  
  
‘Snork’s headed upstairs with Moominpappa already. No, no. I think a nice cuppa and some of these biscuits are in order. Put the kettle on there, Snufkin.’  
  
Snufkin takes the order silently but with a raised eyebrow as Snorkmaiden flounces back out into the living room, likely off to find a nice spot on the couch for herself. Moomin watches as Snufkin slinks from his chair, feline and certainly bothered some at being bossed about though he says nothing.  
  
‘I can do that,’ Moomin says, crossing over towards the stove but Snufkin grabs the kettle first.  
  
‘No, she asked me,’ Snufkin replies blandly, making a big show of screwing the cap off and heading to the sink. ‘Unless you think I can’t boil water the way she likes.’  
  
‘Can someone like water boiled a certain way?’  
  
‘I daresay if Snorkmaiden has a preference one way or another, you’d know it,’ Snufkin retorts tartly, turning the tap on too strong, too quick and the water splashes into the kettle and all over him. ‘Oh- _oh!’_  
  
Snufkin makes a grumbling noise, dropping the kettle with a clang into the sink.  
  
‘I’m not myself,’ Snufkin says, hands on the sink and head down. ‘Not at all.’  
  
‘Who are you instead?’ Moomin asks, coming closer. His tail swings, comes up against Snufkin’s ankle again.  
  
‘Someone very silly,’ Snufkin sighs, sounding quite miserable about the whole thing. ‘Someone I don’t think you’d like very much.’  
  
‘Not possible,’ Moomin says gently, touching Snufkin’s wrist. So narrow a thing, Moomin thinks of it. ‘You look awfully like you still, and I’m pretty gone on that.’  
  
‘Looks can be deceiving,’ Snufkin says but he leans a little closer anyway, so they’re almost pressed shoulder to shoulder. ‘She’s very pretty.'  
  
Moomin frowns. ‘Who is?’  
  
‘Who’d you think?’ Snufkin says strangely, which only serves to confuse Moomin further. Snufkin sighs again. ‘Snorkmaiden, you daft troll.’  
  
‘Oh. Oh! Right!’ Moomin thinks about that for a moment, looking at the funny turn in Snufkin’s mouth. When it finally clicks, Moomin laughs though he knows he oughtn’t. ‘Are you telling me you’re jealous?’  
  
Snufkin stiffens like a board. ‘Don’t laugh at me.’  
  
‘I’m not laughing at you,’ Moomin says though it’s clearly untrue as he giggles between the words. ‘I’m just surprised, is all.’  
  
If anything, that only serves to make Snufkin more self-conscious it appears. He twists like a knot, uncomfortable and it’s rather still such a novelty to see. Moomin is used to Snufkin holding himself with such purpose. Now, it’s like a little bit of the veil has been pulled away.  
  
Again, Moomin oughtn’t be glad, but he shamefully is.  
  
‘You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, you know.’  
  
‘Pointless thing either way,’ Snufkin mutters. ‘It solves nothing and only serves to put one in a foul mood.’  
  
‘And are you in a foul mood?’  
  
‘I’m not in a good one. And neither am I pretty.’  
  
Moomin stammers, completely thrown by the end of that sentence which seems to have come from nowhere; ‘What’s that matter? I think you’re lovely.’  
  
‘But not pretty.’  
  
‘Do you want to be?’ Moomin laughs, incredulous. ‘Isn’t being pretty an awful lot of bother? All that primping and combing, perfumes and oils. Doesn’t seem very you, Snuff.’  
  
‘You don’t seem to mind it on Snorkmaiden,’ Snufkin grumbles, turning the tap back on to fill the kettle. Moomin can’t help but feel he’s said the wrong thing here.  
  
‘What’d you mean by that?’  
  
‘Nothing,’ Snufkin says in a manner that implies it’s anything but. ‘I suppose you were only answering her question. And the yellow does suit her.’  
  
‘Snufkin,’ Moomin says, before trying again when Snufkin makes a big business of filling the kettle instead of answering him. ‘Snufkin, look at me.’  
  
Snufkin turns away, heading back to the stove but Moomin reaches out and takes his hand, stopping him. Snufkin looks down at Moomin’s paw on him, a thoughtful expression on his face.  
  
‘I don’t care that Snorkmaiden’s pretty,’ he says and Snufkin glances up, a very blank expression on his face. Moomin’s seen it many times, usually when he’s being very silly and Snufkin is just too kind to says so. ‘I’d much rather be looking at you, any time. Any day. Preferably all of them, if you must know.’  
  
Snufkin goes red, quite quickly and he looks away as though that might help. It doesn’t but Moomin is so incredibly fond all the same. He pulls on Snufkin’s hand, bringing him closer.  
  
‘Still jealous?’ Moomin asks, because it does funny things to his ego still to think Snufkin might be. ‘Because as good as looking at you is, kissing you is way better.’  
  
Snufkin whacks him with his free hand, eyes wide.  
  
‘You- you can’t say things like that!’  
  
‘Why not? It’s true.’  
  
‘What a terror, you are,’ says Snufkin with a smile. ‘Truly a very bold creature.’  
  
‘Coming from you? I know a compliment when I hear one,’ Moomin says and Snufkin isn’t watching the kettle in his hand and it tilts precariously.  
  
Not that Moomin cares much himself, eyes constantly dropping to Snufkin’s nose.  
  
‘And though I doubt anything I say will stop her from asking for compliments,’ Moomin says and though Snufkin comes as he’s drawn, he frowns. ‘I can think of something that might make her less inclined to do it in front of you.’  
  
Snufkin opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks very serious, a dark look crossing his face. ‘I don’t think now is the best time.’  
  
‘You agreed we’d tell her.’  
  
‘Yes, but surely not straight away!’ Snufkin says hastily.  
  
‘Then when?’ Moomin asks, a little miffed if he’s to be honest. What difference does it all make, really? ‘It’ll be fine, Snufkin. It really will you know.’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t look at all convinced of that.  
  
‘Moomintroll?’ someone calls from the living room, disrupting what would’ve been a very nice moment to sort the whole thing out but as it is-  
  
Snufkin bolts like a shot. He’s at the stove and leaving Moomin so quick it takes Moomin quite a long few seconds to register what exactly has happened. Moomin stares at where Snufkin had been just a moment ago, baffled.  
  
‘Oh, there you are,’ Snorkmaiden says, walking back into the kitchen. She eyes the two of them, a frown growing. ‘Have you still not boiled the kettle?’  
  
‘Um. Uh…’ Moomin manages as Snufkin busies himself with lighting the stove top. ‘We couldn’t find any matches.’  
  
Snorkmaiden looks at Snufkin particularly, her paws on her hips. Something flickers through her yellow, but it’s gone so quick Moomin can’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light. ‘Right. Well, Moominmama says to bring the jammy dodgers in. Are you staying, Snufkin?’  
  
Snufkin tenses and he looks at Moomin before turning to Snorkmaiden. ‘No, I don’t think so.’  
  
‘Not leaving on our account, are you?’  
  
‘I’ve got to fish,’ Snufkin says, abandoning the kettle on the stove and heading for the back door. ‘Good to see you though.’  
  
‘You, too. I’d hoped you stay though,’ Snorkmaiden says and Snufkin must be as surprised as Moomin is to hear that, as he freezes entirely with one hand on the doorknob. ‘Been ages since I’ve heard a good story and I was sure you’d have one.’  
  
‘Actually, Snorkmaiden,’ Moomin says, feeling brave. ‘There is something I wanted to tell you.’  
  
‘Oh?’ Snorkmaiden looks at him, smiling. ‘Have some gossip, do you?’  
  
Moomin looks over at the same moment Snufkin looks to him and knows Snufkin can see what he’s thinking. Snufkin goes pale, shrinks in on himself and any courage Moomin might’ve felt drains away entirely.  
  
‘I… I don’t know if would count as gossip,’ Moomin says, changing direction mid-sentence. ‘But the strangest thing happened with me and the Mymble’s Daughter last month.’  
  
‘The Mymble's Daughter?’ Snorkmaiden sounds interested, coming to the table to start placing jammy dodgers onto a saucer. ‘I can’t wait to hear it then. Doesn’t have anything to do with her new beau, does it?’  
  
‘New beau?’  
  
‘That’s what I’ve heard on the grapevine anyway. Tales of a little romance in the valley and who else would it be if not the Mymble’s Daughter?’ Snorkmaiden says, holding one of the more lopsided dodgers up for a closer inspection. ‘We can always rely on the Mymble children for a good yarn.’  
  
‘Best leave you to it, then,’ Snufkin says, tipping his hat to both of them. ‘Pip, pip!’  
  
‘Snufkin-'  
  
But Snufkin vanishes out the backdoor and away, leaving Moomin quite without. Snorkmaiden walks over, humming thoughtfully. ‘Couldn’t get out of here fast enough, could he?’  
  
‘You know Snufkin,’ Moomin says, heading over to pull down some mugs from the press. ‘Not the best for gatherings.’  
  
‘It's not the gathering, it's who's at it,’ Snorkmaiden says and Moomin nearly drops the mug in his hand. ‘Don’t be so shocked. We both know he’s not keen on me.’  
  
‘Snufkin likes you!’ Moomin tells her though he’s not entirely sure of it. ‘He’s just funny about things sometimes.’  
  
‘Funny about you, more like.’  
  
‘What’s that mean?’ Moomin asks, high-pitched again and Snorkmaiden gives him a withering look.  
  
‘Never mind,’ Snorkmaiden replies, as unconvinced as Snufkin had been. ‘Get that tea going, will you? I’m gasping.’  
  
Moomin does as he’s bid, wondering if maybe Snufkin had had a point after all.  
  
  
*/  
  
  
Prepping for the visitors has kept Moomin quite busy the last while and their arrival all after. Too busy for what he’d rather be doing, but finally there is a reprieve and Moomin knows exactly where he wants to spend the afternoon if not listening to Snork explain why oblong screws really were the next best thing in aviation.  
  
Whatever that means.  
  
Moomin heads straight to Snufkin’s tent, early enough for no one to notice he's left. He knocks on the log outside it, practically brimming with giddiness as he waits for the zipper to come down. Snufkin pokes his head out, blinking slowly in the morning light.  
  
‘Moomintroll?’  
  
‘Can I come in?’ Moomin asks and Snufkin doesn’t smile, but his eyes go that lovely toffee colour that means he’s going to say _Yes._  
  
Snufkin opens the tent, scooting over to give Moomin some room to clamber in. It's a tight fit in the little tent and Moomin takes Snufkin's hat and puts it outside, just for a moment to give him some space.  
  
Moomin zips the thing shut behind him and looks to Snufkin, fully intending on giving a good morning kiss when he pauses; ‘Oh! You’re not ready yet, sorry!’  
  
Snufkin is sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, shirt half-tucked and neither suspender clipped to his trousers yet. His bare feet look so much smaller without boots and Moomin is distracted by the pink of his toes, incredibly tiny on the woollen bag.  
  
Snufkin rubs the back of his head, flushing all down his neck. Without his scarf, his muslin hangs open and Moomin can see the skin go red all down his chest.  
  
Moomin quickly looks at Snufkin’s face, throat tight.  
  
‘Only up a few minutes myself,’ Snufkin says, awkwardly tugging on one of his suspenders where it lies limp behind him. ‘I didn’t expect you this early. You're not much of a lark.’  
  
‘I wanted to see you as soon as possible,’ Moomin says honestly and Snufkin glances at him, looking a touch smug. It’s all very much undone by how dishevelled he appears, but Moomin feels a poke at his pride anyway.  
  
‘Oh?’ Snufkin says, letting go of the suspender and leaning forward over himself. ‘Why so?’  
  
‘There are a few reasons actually,’ Moomin says, shifting to his knees. He’s taller than Snufkin like this- though really, he’s taller than Snufkin anyway not that Snufkin ever admits to that.  
  
 _Half an inch,_ Snufkin says of it whenever Moomin brings it up. _And only with your ears up. Hardly taller in the true sense._ _  
_ _  
_Snufkin isn’t tall in any sense really, disguising as such with a big boots and a bigger hat but Moomin adores him too much to point that out. One must let their Snufkin have his victories where they can.  
  
‘I’ve been without good conversation,’ Moomin continues, putting a paw on Snufkin’s knee. ‘Stuck inside with no appreciation of the fine Summer weather. And I’ve missed your singing.’  
  
‘My singing?’ Snufkin asks, eyebrows raised and clearly disbelieving but he’s starting to smile. Moomin keeps going, emboldened.  
  
‘Yes, your great singing,’ Moomin says, inching closer. ‘The singing you hide behind that mouth organ of yours.’  
  
‘I hide nothing,’ Snufkin says, most certainly lying but Moomin loves the game.  
  
'You hide plenty.'  
  
'Better look a touch closer then,' Snufkin says and Moomin does exactly that.  
  
He presses their noses together, hums himself in the back of his throat at the loveliness of it all. Snufkin leans into it, nose pointy as always but Moomin raises a paw to hold his face steady. To hold him so Moomin can press a little closer, can move his nose along Snufkin's cheek in soft, feathery kisses that swirl up butterflies in Moomin's tummy.   
  
Snufkin tilts his head, prompting Moomin to kiss down his jaw, the junction of his neck and Snufkin sighs. Moomin can feel his breath on his fur and it burns like a coal inside.   
  
He doesn't mean to, but Moomin pushes too far forward in his eagerness to get another kiss in and Snufkin tumbles backwards. Moomin lands on top of him, using both paws to catch himself on either side of Snufkin's head so he doesn't get crushed.   
  
'Oh!' Moomin says, looking down at where Snufkin stares up at him with his eyes bright. The light that spells mischief. 'Sorry.'  
  
Moomin isn't really sorry, if he's to be honest and Snufkin clearly knows it.  
  
'You're not sorry,' he says and he leans up, placing a small Mumrik kiss to Moomin's cheek. 'Nor should you be.'  
  
Moomin blushes so hot it feels like he'll shed all of a sudden. Snufkin flops back down onto his sleeping bag, that not-quite smile on his face still as he raises his hands to rub at the fur on Moomin's arms. He pushes it against the growth, tickling and Moomin shivers from it before Snufkin rubs it back down the right way again.   
  
'I'd like to try something,' Moomin says, struck by the colour in Snufkin's cheeks and the way his hair looks right now. Snufkin blinks up at him, slow and curious.   
  
'Oh?'  
  
'I want to try kissing you again,' Moomin says, deeply embarrassed but very sure. 'The Mumrik way.'  
  
'The Mumrik way?' Snufkin repeats, raising an eyebrow. He must be doing it on purpose, but two can play at that game.  
  
'Well, if you don't fancy it,' Moomin says, shrugging and looking to move off but Snufkin tightens his grip on Moomin's arms.   
  
Moomin looks down at him again, waits to see if Snufkin will say anything else but he doesn't. He just stares up at Moomin with his eyes astute and Moomin really hopes that isn't a bad thing.  
  
Moomin is leaning down again before he realises something. 'Um. I won't be able to- to you know, see you.'  
  
Snufkin tilts his head slightly before laughing. He still doesn't say anything, just chuckles in that breathy way that makes Moomin's fur stand on end. Then he's moving a hand up along Moomin's arm, to his neck and tilting Moomin's head a certain way. Just like that day in the meadow, only somehow... very different.  
  
When their lips meet, Moomin has a brief moment of panic that he'll do it wrong. That he doesn't quite remember which way is best way- but all of that goes clear out the window with how Snufkin cups the bottom of his jaw and keeps him steady.   
  
Like this, Moomin is so incredibly close and he can smell everything. The stale soap Snufkin uses in his hair, that horrible pipe. It fills Moomin's lungs and with his lips busy, it's almost like he can't breathe at all and he worries he may be feeling a touch dizzy, the way his head spins.   
  
Snufkin pulls back for a moment before kissing him again, a slow ebb and flow rhythm that Moomin sinks into very easily.   
  
It feels so very good but also so very- very- _oh,_ it's something and that something is burning very hot.  
  
Moomin moves without thinking when Snufkin pulls back to take a small breath, his lips opening and Moomin kisses him like that, starting as though suddenly stung by a Hattifattner. 

Moomin has never even considered what someone else’s mouth might taste like.  
  
The noise Snufkin makes at it sets Moomin on edge like nothing else before has. Like a fishing line being pulled very far, very fast and threatening to snap clean in two and Moomin moves a paw to Snufkin's waist, moving on an instinct that's molten loveliness.   
  
Moomin can feel a dip to Snufkin's waist that no Moomin has and how often has Moomin thought about this? Thought about the shape of Snufkin and how he looks, how curious Moomin has always been and now here he is, feeling it for himself how foreign a creature Snufkin truly is.   
  
It's rather like being drunk, if Moomin were to put some name to it.   
  
They're a bit of a tangle like this but it’s the best place for Snufkin to be for Mumrik kisses, Moomin decides. Of which Moomin fancies himself as being pretty okay at going by the way Snufkin makes soft little sighs between each one.  
  
Moomin is practically itching down to his skin, overheated between the Summer morning and Snufkin beneath him who has his hands gripping tight, as though frightened Moomin may go somewhere.  
  
He is most certainly not going anywhere.  
  
Some other occasion Moomin’s arm might get tired holding him up like this but right now, Moomin doesn’t even notice. The paw on Snufkin’s waist grips a little more, something that feels like a hot stitch spiking in his stomach at the way Snufkin moves beneath it, pressing closer. Moomin has never wanted to be closer to someone in his life.  
  
Snufkin moves his other hand to Moomin’s face, palm up and hot against his cheek. If it’s possible for someone’s insides to twist like an ankle does, then that’s exactly what Moomin’s do at the way Snufkin arches up, kissing deeper and spurring a little noise of Moomin’s own in surprise.  
  
Snufkin grins against his mouth, wicked and Moomin can feel his teeth-

‘Snufkin, are you there?’  
  
Snufkin seizes beneath him and Moomin reels back, so they both stare down at each other in horror at Snorkmaiden’s voice coming through the tent.  
  
Snufkin’s eyes are like saucers, mouth still open and Moomin knows he shouldn’t be focusing on this, and he’d be fierce scolded if he were to say it- but Snufkin does look rather nice like this, all messy and beneath him.  
  
 _‘Maybe they’ll go away?_ ’ Snufkin hisses desperately, barely audible. Moomin shrugs helplessly as they listen to Snorkmaiden do exactly the opposite and move closer.  
  
‘Snufkin?’ she calls again, right to the tent opening which is of course is zipped primly up but Snufkin’s hands go so tight in Moomin’s fur he nearly yelps with it, if not for Snufkin quickly slapping one over his mouth to hush him. ‘Oh. I guess he’s out.’  
  
‘Or napping,’ someone else says and Snufkin snaps back to Moomin, looking if possible even more panicked. Little My is with her. ‘Why don’t you kick the tent? That might wake him up!’  
  
‘How can you even think of something that nasty?’ Snorkmaiden replies and oh, Moomin knows that tone so very well. If Little My were a little less… well, scary herself he knows she’d have to cower in the face of the expression Snorkmaiden is no doubt wearing. ‘If he’s sleeping, we should let him sleep.’  
  
‘You know, now that I look I don’t think he’s sleeping,’ Little My says impishly, even laughing at the end of it and Snufkin and Moomin exchange a look of profound dread. ‘I’d say he’s ignoring you on purpose. Busy with your _mouth-‘_ Snufkin winces. ‘-organ, Snufkin?’  
  
‘Not even Snufkin would be rude enough to ignore me on purpose!’ Snorkmaiden huffs, clearly offended but she does add a less certain; ‘He’s just not in, surely.’  
  
‘He has to be, look,’ Little My says, possibly pointing at something and as Moomin thinks it, he closes eyes and lets it hit him like a cold bucket of water. They’d left it outside, right by the log. ‘His hat is here. Hardly going anywhere without that, now is he? Summer forbid that he have to make eye contact with anyone.’  
  
‘Oh,’ is all Snorkmaiden says to that and Moomin cracks an eye open, looking down at where Snufkin is white as a sheet. ‘Snufkin, you’re not napping by any chance are you?’ 

‘Let’s just open it up!’ Little My says like she’s just had a great idea. ‘Maybe he needs a little wake up call!’ 

If there was anything like a colour left in Snufkin’s face, it vanishes. Truly, Snufkin looks quite ill. If Little My barges in on them, even if Moomin rolls as far away as the tent will allow him, (which mind, isn’t far), Moomin can’t help but feel it’s painfully obvious what they were up to. With Snufkin’s suspender undone, his shirt like that and Moomin tries to think of something before-  
  
Moomin whispers, muffled through Snufkin’s fingers; _‘Snufkin, why don’t we just tell her? We’re going to anyway.’_ _  
_  
Snufkin looks at Moomin like he’s just suggested they invite Snorkmaiden to join them in the tent rather than simply leaving it and Moomin tries not to laugh at the dreadfully serious look on Snufkin's face. Really, it’s not as bad as all that.  
  
Less than ideal, Moomin must admit, but better to bite the bullet, surely?  
  
 _‘Stay here,’_ Snufkin whispers after a moment, Moomin taking too long to register that. But then Snufkin is rolling them over, shoving Moomin down onto the sleeping bag and tossing a blanket over him.  
  
Moomin tries to sit up but Snufkin shoves him back down, desperately shushing him as he does and Moomin hisses back; _‘You can’t be serious.’_ _  
__  
__‘Hush and get under the blanket!’_ Snufkin replies, fastening his suspenders all crooked.  
 _  
__‘What good is that going to do?’_ Moomin whispers back manically, but does as he’s bid anyway. If anything, it’s less noticeable than a bright white Moomin. _‘Are you actually- are we_ actually _doing this?’_  
  
 _‘Stay here!’_ Snufkin snaps back, more insistent and then he’s tossing his smock over Moomin’s face for good measure. Moomin is still tugging at it as he hears the zipper come undone and go back up again. ‘Ah. Hello, Snorkmaiden.’  
  
‘Snufkin!’ Snorkmaiden says, seemingly as surprised by Snufkin’s sudden reveal as Moomin is. ‘What on earth were you doing? I was calling you.’  
  
‘Napping,’ Snufkin lies quickly and Moomin rolls his eyes from where he’s buried under all Snufkin’s belongings. Not even he’d believe that, Snufkin’s voice is so high.  
  
‘Napping, is it? You must’ve have some bad dreams,’ Little My says and when Snufkin doesn’t answer, she adds. ‘You look like you’ve had a terrible time tossing and turning. Maybe we should fetch you a comb.’  
  
Moomin can picture how Snufkin takes that so clearly he has to muffle his mouth into Snufkin’s smock to quell a bit of laughter. Shameful to not show solidarity, Moomin knows, but Moomin wishes he could see through the tent and see how well Snufkin is doing. Or, incidentally, how poorly.  
  
‘You are looking a bit rumpled. Not even your suspenders done proper,’ Snorkmaiden unhelpfully points out. ‘Gosh, I didn’t rush you did I?’  
  
‘It’s fine, I was just getting ready for the day.’  
  
‘It’s strange though, I don’t think I’ve seen you without your smock in- goodness, who knows. Are you really as skinny as all that under that thing?’  
  
‘Like I said, I was just… getting ready,’ Snufkin says tightly and Little My actually snorts. Snufkin ignores her, seemingly addressing Snorkmaiden; ‘What can I do for you, Snorkmaiden?’  
  
‘I was hoping you’d come join me for a walk!’ Snorkmaiden says and both Moomin and Snufkin are so surprised by this that Moomin doesn’t even register how long it’s taking Snufkin to reply until Snorkmaiden continues talking anxiously. ‘There are some mushrooms by the creek and I need your expertise over how edible they are or not.’  
  
‘I told her not to bother. If Snork and Moomintroll are as tough as they claim to be, they can survive some mildly poisonous soup,’ Little My says and Moomin can hear her shuffling around, possibly climbing on a log by the campfire. ‘Though I suppose you’d be disappointed if Moomintroll went, got sick and died on you after you just managed to-’  
  
‘Do you really need me? You seem like a Snork who- who knows her mushrooms,’ Snufkin says loudly, cutting Little My off and Hemulen’s tails, he’s really not good at this, Moomin thinks. Surely Moomin is better than this in a pinch. He likes to think so anyway and perhaps the wrong one of them got out of the tent.  
  
‘I’d rather have you, if I’m being honest,’ Snorkmaiden says, more insistent and Moomin knows that pleading tone intimately as well. She won’t let up, he knows. ‘Go put yourself together, I’ll wait and we can head off together.’  
  
‘Oh, I- I don’t know,’ Snufkin stutters, voice squeaking again. ‘I’ve a very busy day, really. Lots to do.’  
  
‘I thought you were napping,’ Little My interrupts, sounding positively gleeful. ‘That your idea of a busy day, is it? You must be doing it wrong. Or maybe your sleeping bag is just too full to be comfortable.’  
  
Moomin winces in sympathy, imagining the look on Snufkin’s face in the wake of such a thing.  
  
‘What’s that- I don’t- don’t be silly! What would be in my sleeping bag?’ Snufkin manages and Moomin rolls his eyes, torn between affection and exasperation at Snufkin’s bumbling. He’s usually so cool about things but once he’s panicked, once he’s stuck in a corner- oh, Moomin wishes he could help somewhat but to reveal himself now would make things infinitely worse.  
  
‘What indeed,’ Little My says as Snorkmaiden apparently loses all patience.  
  
‘Get ready, Snufkin,’ Snorkmaiden says and there’s no arguing with her by the sounds of it. ‘I’ll wait here for you. We won’t be long and you can go back to whatever very busy plans you have lined up.’   
  
‘I don’t need to get ready. I’m fine,’ Snufkin replies and there’s a long moment of quiet.  
  
‘Snufkin,’ Snorkmaiden says flatly. ‘You’re not wearing any boots.’  
  
Moomin peaks out from under the smock and sees said boots tucked neatly in the corner.  
  
‘The creek, you said?’ There’s movement outside the tent, the sound of Snufkin walking away as his voice travels. ‘I won’t need them. May paddle for a while, you see.’  
  
‘Paddle?’ Snorkmaiden repeats dubiously, but it sounds like she’s going with him. Their voices getting fainter as Snufkin asks for more information on these mushrooms.  
  
Moomin waits a little while before he uncovers himself. He puts his ear to the tarp, listens and hears nothing but the creaks and whistles of the woodland. Once Moomin is outside, he gives a quick look around to see the campfire empty and Snufkin’s hat is gone.  
  
He’s just about to sigh with the relief when someone loudly barks from behind him; _‘Boo!’_  
  
‘Great Groke!’ Moomin yelps, startled and he looks to see Little My leaning against the tentpole, remarkably pleased with herself. ‘What are you doing?’  
  
‘What am I doing?’ Little My asks, folding her arms and looking up at Moomin with mischief. ‘How about we talk about what you’re doing. Having a kip, were you?’  
  
Moomin tries to think of a suitable lie and finds he can’t. For all his thought that he might be better at this, at least Snufkin had thought of something to say at all whereas Moomin stands here, mouth gaping like one of Snufkin’s unfortunate fish.  
  
‘Close your mouth before you catch flies,’ Little My warns him. ‘Wouldn’t want one going down Snufkin’s throat, now would we?’  
  
‘Little My!’ Moomin says, completely scandalised and he puffs up like a cotton bud from the flush that floods him.

Which is ridiculous, considering what he was doing but Little My doesn’t need to know the specifics of such a thing!

‘Keep your voice down!’  
  
‘Oh, don’t worry! She’s long gone,’ Little My says of Snorkmaiden, hopping forward to start walking towards the bridge. ‘I have to say though, Moomintroll. I didn’t think you had this sneaking around in you. You’re a natural.’  
  
‘Stop it,’ Moomin tells her, knowing sarcasm when he hears it. ‘We’re not sneaking.’  
  
Little My turns and gives him a firm look from beneath her thick, red eyebrows. ‘What would you call all that nonsense then?’  
  
‘There’s a difference between sneaking and just wanting to keep things private,’ Moomin says, ears flicking with irritation. ‘If that’s how you feel about it though, why didn’t you just tell Snorkmaiden I was here instead of threatening to burst the tent in?’  
  
‘I’m no snitch,’ Little My says proudly, like this might undo all the terrible things she is instead of such. ‘But I’m not keeping your secrets for you either. How about we consider it a helpful nudge?’  
  
‘If that’s you being helpful, then I’d hate to see you unhelpful,’ Moomin replies and she huffs, maybe laughing. Maybe offended. Possibly both. ‘Besides, we’re telling her soon, so thank you but we’ll be just fine ourselves.’  
  
‘Really?’ Little My does sound surprised. ‘Quick, like a bandage. Scared of what she might say with some wine in her at Midsummer?’  
  
Absolutely but it’s not gentlemanly to say so, so Moomin merely shrugs. ‘Just the right time, is all.’  
  
‘And what about Snufkin? Does he feel the same?’  
  
‘Well,’ Moomin says, uncomfortable. ‘Like I said, it’s the right time. He knows that.’  
  
‘You nitwit,’ Little My snaps, turning to slap Moomin on the knee, which is as high as she can reach. ‘You know he likes to keep things to himself. You shouldn’t boss him like this.’  
  
‘It’s not just about him though, is it?’ Moomin retorts, swiping at her with his tail as he’s rankled by the idea of him bossing Snufkin to do anything. Even if true. ‘I get a say, don’t I?’  
  
‘More than you know, I think,’ Little My says mysteriously, batting his tail off her. ‘Not that I care or anything, but you should be watching your step here, Moomintroll. Snufkin’s not as tough as he likes you to think he is.’  
  
Moomin suddenly feels like an old clock gear that’s finally clicked into place. Little My avoids his eye, as though seeing it herself.

‘That’s why you didn’t tell anyone about us. You didn’t tell anyone for Snufkin.’  
  
Little My twitches like a fly. She blinks up at him, surprised and if Moomin wasn’t so thrown himself he might’ve felt a touch of pride over that.  
  
‘Why would you care?’ Moomin asks, more aloud to himself than Little My herself. ‘Snufkin won’t like you poking your nose in, even to help.’  
  
‘Who said I did it for him?’ Little My retorts, a little bitier than usual and Moomin knows he’s rattled her a bit. ‘I just think you both need to watch yourselves, that’s all. If one of you gets upset then the other will be in a right state and I’m not going to hang around dealing with that silliness.’  
  
Moomin tries to read between the lines on that one but decides against saying anything further. Little My looks so very uncomfortable, so unlike herself and really, if Moomin is to admit it, rather more like Snufkin. How has Moomin never noticed before, how similar they are in some ways?  
  
‘Suggestion noted,’ Moomin says at last, waiting for more but Little My seems to have quit her contributions. Moomin looks up to Moominhouse. ‘Fancy some tea and a biscuit?’  
  
‘Two biscuits,’ Little My counters, following Moomin where he starts walking. ‘And two sugars.’  
  
‘Consider it done.’  
  
As they walk, Moomin casts a look behind him towards the woods.  
  
'What do you think they're talking about?'  
  
'The best way to dump you. I think it's actually the one thing they have in common,' Little My says and Moomin glares at her as she walks ahead, sticking his tongue out after and wondering why he even bothers.  
  
  
*/

Snufkin keeps his head down, entirely reliant on his hat to hide himself and still, he feels exposed.  
  
He and Snorkmaiden had quickly run out of things to talk about as they walked to the creek. Only so much conversation a mushroom can produce, even one likely to be poisonous. As it is now, Snufkin walks with his hands buried into his pockets and shoulders hunched and Snorkmaiden next to him, just as silent.  
  
He’s trying not to notice, but she’s still wearing the bangle Moomintroll got her and it feels rather like a sharp stick in his back from a knarly tree.   
  
‘Here we are!’ Snorkmaiden finally says when they make it to the creek and even she sounds relieved.

It’s smaller than the one out East, but Snufkin knows it well enough all the same. He looks over towards a beech tree by the edge, the roots of which he and Moomintroll had spent an afternoon sitting on tying lures together.  
  
Snufkin looks away quickly, eyes back down to his bare feet in the grass. Doesn’t do to dwell on such things now.  
  
‘So,’ he says, rolling his shoulders in attempt at nonchalant. ‘Where are these mushrooms of yours?’  
  
‘Now don’t be cross with me,’ Snorkmaiden says and Snufkin tips his head up, looking at the sheepish expression on her face. ‘But there aren’t actually any mushrooms. I made it up.’  
  
‘Why?’ Snufkin says but he suspects why.  
  
‘I wanted to get you on your own,’ Snorkmaiden explains which is exactly what Snufkin had been afraid of. ‘I think you and I need to have a little heart to heart, what do you think?’  
  
‘I doubt there’s much for our hearts to be bonding over.’  
  
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Snorkmaiden says, moving over towards some large rocks by the creek’s edge. She pats the one next to her, brown eyes watching Snufkin closely. ‘Come sit with me.’  
  
Snufkin hovers, desperately unwilling to do so and not entirely sure how to decline. In the end, he settles for the creek’s bank. He dips his feet into the water, muddying it up as he disrupts the sand below and sits with his shoulder to Snorkmaiden, eyes out over the running water.  
  
‘Right. No point beating around the bush, I suppose,’ Snorkmaiden says and at least some of her bravado from before has wavered. It may not be kind, but it does make Snufkin feel better to know she’s as unsure as he is. ‘I know how you feel about Moomintroll.’  
  
Snufkin tenses, hands into fists and getting dirt under his nails. ‘Oh.’  
  
‘And I know how he feels about you,’ she continues, not noticing how still Snufkin has gone. ‘I knew for ages really, but I just couldn’t really understand it. Not when we were together, you know?’

He doesn’t say anything to that, picking at the grass to distract himself.  
  
‘But I think it was getting a bit too big to ignore. Even for someone as thick as Moomintroll,’ Snorkmaiden says and the insults shocks Snufkin so he looks at her, mouth open to correct her but she just grins at him. ‘Come off it, you’re not actually going to sit there and tell me he’s the paragon of emotional maturity, are you?’  
  
Snufkin shuts his lips and Snorkmaiden laughs.  
  
‘Not saying he isn’t clever. He rather is, actually. I think that might make it worse though. He gets so convinced he knows exactly what to do that he misses anything that might say otherwise, know what I mean?’  
  
Snufkin is getting the impression that his only input to this conversation is to listen. Which is decidedly unpleasant, but certainly not as bad as being expected to say anything to what Snorkmaiden is sharing. Moomintroll is so much better for these kinds of things.  
  
But naturally, just as he thinks this, she asks him a question.  
  
‘Has he told you yet?’  
  
Snufkin looks away again, spotting a frog on the other side of the creek hop from one rock to another. The silence stretches, water rushing and Snufkin’s own blood pounding in his ears as his stomach churns with a panic that has nowhere to go.  
  
‘Yeah. Thought so. Neither of you are as sneaky as you think,’ Snorkmaiden says and she sounds quite sad suddenly. ‘Knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it in for much longer. I thought he was going to burst over it, to be honest. So you’re a couple then?’  
  
‘We’re…’ Snufkin isn’t sure how to say _Yes_ despite it being the only answer. ‘Together.’  
  
‘Not coupled?’  
  
‘That’s what I mean,’ Snufkin replies, a touch terse he realises too late and Snorkmaiden looks at him thoughtfully.  
  
‘Being together and being coupled isn’t the same thing. They can be, but not always. I wouldn’t like to presume.’  
  
‘Well, we are,’ Snufkin says, petulant. He stares at her bracelet and instantly regrets it, looking away quickly. ‘He asked me and I said yes. He’ll tell you himself.’  
  
‘You both could’ve told me when I got here, you know. Then I wouldn’t have to go inventing mushrooms.’  
  
‘It felt like something you and Moomintroll should talk about. Nothing to do with me.’  
  
‘It’s a little to do with you, really. Besides, aren’t we friends? At least a little?'  
  
Snufkin isn’t sure how to answer that without offering insult.  
  
‘I guess I was afraid you might be jealous,’ Snufkin settles on as it’s half-true, glancing over and Snorkmaiden gives him a look of immense pity.  
  
‘Of course I’m jealous,’ Snorkmaiden replies and Snufkin shudders, mortified. ‘I’m allowed that at least, I think. But I’m not going to be a picklepuss about it either. I don’t want you both feeling like you had to be walking on tenter-hooks with me over the whole thing.’

Snorkmaiden twirls a part of her fringe, which has gotten longer, into a neat little curl at the side of her face.

‘But I’m actually really happy for you, too.’  
  
‘Are you?’  
  
‘Yeah, I am. More than I thought I would be when I first realised what was going on, now it’s happened. Bit too distracted by how bad it made me feel.’  
  
Another long moment of quiet settles.  
  
‘I guess all I want to know now is,’ Snorkmaiden says at last. ‘That you’re not going to hurt him. It’s really quite terrible, you know. Caring about someone who doesn’t feel the same way that you do.’  
  
‘I do,’ Snufkin tells her earnestly but Snorkmaiden doesn’t look convinced.  
  
‘Yeah, but you’ll leave anyway, won’t you?’ Snufkin flinches back as though stricken.  
  
‘I have to,’ he says, quieter.  
  
‘Do you though?’ Snorkmaiden pushes. ‘Do you really? Because you don’t know what he’s like when you go. It’s all well and good for you, you’re not here to see it. But if it wasn’t for Hibernation, I would spend my Winters pulling my fur out worrying over poor Moomintroll.’  
  
Snufkin isn’t sure how to take that. It’s nothing he doesn’t know already and he feels an itch in his skin, like something unpleasant crawling and he leans away like it may help.

‘He’ll be fine. He always is.’  
  
‘But things are different now!’  
  
‘Not that different.’  
  
Snorkmaiden frowns and it’s rather intimidating. ‘It is for him. You have to know that at least.’  
  
‘You worry so much, and it’s not even August yet!’ Snufkin says, deflecting with forced cheer and even adds a miserably unconvincing laugh to the end. ‘When the time comes, Moomintroll and I will know ourselves what’s best.’  
  
‘But what about the future?’ Snorkmaiden asks, sounding genuinely curious but Snufkin withers as though she’s snapped at him.

Snufkin doesn’t like thinking of the future the way a Snork or even a Moomin says it. For them, it’s a destination. Snufkin doesn’t believe in destinations.  
  
‘What about it?’  
  
‘Moomintroll’s not going to live in Moominhouse forever. May not even be in Moominvalley forever! He’s going to leave, build his house, start his life and he wants you to part of that. So what will you do? Will you let him build you a house and then pitch your tent in its garden every Spring?’  
  
Snufkin hasn’t even considered such a thing, never mind think of it as far as all that. It rather seems Snorkmaiden has given it more thought than Snufkin could ever have done so. He stares at his feet through the rippling water, a cold turn in his stomach.  
  
‘You seem to have a lot to say about this.’  
  
‘I’m not trying to stick my oar in,’ Snorkmaiden says despite the fact that is exactly what she’s doing. ‘But Moomintroll is my best friend. My very best and I want him to be happy.’  
  
‘He’s my friend, too,’ Snufkin retorts and Snorkmaiden blooms a muted crimson across her cheeks for a moment, the fur fluttering like an eyelash.  
  
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she says, taking a small breath and she fades back to her yellow. ‘Like I said, he’s my friend and I just want to look out for him.’  
  
Snufkin thinks about Little My. The urgent way she’d told him not to make a promise he couldn’t keep. He thinks about how lucky Moomintroll is, to have such friends around him. Snufkin thinks he only has one friend in the world like that.  
  
If Moomintroll is the only one, then who’s there to ask _him_ to watch Snufkin’s heart? No one, Snufkin supposes, so he better watch out for it himself. Snufkin is surprised by the awkward loneliness that settles on him when that hits him.  
  
‘I’m just saying think about it, is all,’ Snorkmaiden says, standing up from her rock and brushing stray dirt from her as she does.  
  
‘Snorkmaiden,’ Snufkin says, looking up at her beneath his hat and she looks at him, dark eyes searching as Snufkin thinks about what he wants to say. He loses his nerve, says instead; ‘You’re a good friend to him.’  
  
‘You, too,’ she replies kindly, holding a hand down for him to take. Snufkin lets her pull him up and looks down, puzzled when she doesn’t let go straight away. ‘For what it’s worth, I really do think you’re a good match.’  
  
‘Oh,’ Snufkin says, blushing and dipping his head to try and hide such. ‘Thank you.’  
  
‘And I promise I’m not trying to boss you about.’

‘I didn’t say you were.’  
  
'I'm just worry about him, you know?'  
  
'I do.'  
  
'And you, too.'  
  
'You shouldn't waste time on that.'  
  
‘Gosh, you’re- oh, you’re just really something,’ Snorkmaiden says, shaking her head and her cheeks flutter a few different colours before she’s yellow again. ‘I can’t imagine what love notes from you sound like, to be honest.’  
  
Snufkin shrugs. ‘Never written any.’  
  
‘Sure you have, you just call them Autumn letters instead,’ Snorkmaiden replies, teasing and Snufkin is caught off-guard. ‘Come on. We better bring you back before Moomintroll goes spare.’  
  
Snufkin wants to deny such a thing but already knows Moomintroll is most certainly fretting wherever he is. But he lingers, let’s his hand slip through Snorkmaiden’s paw as she walks away.  
  
‘I think I’ll stay here a little longer. Moomintroll will want to speak with you anyway.’  
  
‘And why wouldn’t he, I suppose?’ Snorkmaiden says brightly. ‘I’m a delight.’  
  
She waves him off, heading back the way they came without him. Snufkin stays at the bank, feet like prunes from so long in the water and thoughts far away.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favourite part of this is that moomintroll and snufkin think they're slick 
> 
> **snufkin 2019:** im a strong, independent mumrik who doesn't need a blessed soul  
>  **also snufkin 2019:** _has vivid nightmares about his best-friend hugging someone else which clearly means snufkin has been abandoned, forgotten and replaced in a horrible three-hit combo of insecurity_
> 
> me: ... i think snufkin would be the jealous type
> 
> today's song is: _small hands_ by keaton henson
> 
> (it’s still raining)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I don’t know if you guys have noticed, but I’ve got a snazzy new icon courtesy of the utterly adorable JirsSnufminArchive, who spoiled me rotten by taking the time to create a lovely swallow for me. 
> 
> If you haven’t read her stories yet, I highly recommend and for more cute art, hit up her tumblr: https://thefearisoneself.tumblr.com/

Snufkin turns over the first card and grits his teeth.

Seven of swords. Snufkin taps his finger against it anxiously. Not unexpected, but looking at it is something unpleasant all the same.  
  
Two of cups next. Snufkin touches this one gently and thinks of Moomintroll. It gives him pause, nervous of where it may go next.  
  
The last card is the eight of swords. Snufkin turns it back over at once. Truths are awful, like that.  
  
He shuffles the cards back into the deck, thinking about his question carefully. He’s concentrating so much on it that he doesn’t notice Moomintroll at all as he approaches, startling slightly when Moomintroll leans over him and casts a shadow.  
  
‘Moomintroll!’  
  
‘Snufkin,’ Moomintroll replies, settling down on the stream bank next to him. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Reading,’ Snufkin says, returning to his shuffling. ‘Though it’s rather less like reading and more along the lines of being told off.’  
  
‘That bossy, are they?’ Moomintroll asks, curiously leaning over to look at the cards in Snufkin’s hands. ‘What are they saying?’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t want to tell him, finds it quite impossible to do so and so he doesn’t. He continues to shuffle, the question coming crystalline in his mind with Moomintroll’s presence so close. He stops and stares at the elegant pattern at the back of his cards, heart in his throat and shivers.  
  
‘Are you cold?’ Moomintroll asks, worried and he puts an arm around Snufkin. Snufkin flinches away without thinking and Moomintroll retreats instantly.  
  
‘It’s fine,’ Snufkin says tightly, not wanting to be touched.  
  
Moomintroll doesn’t say anything but Snufkin can feel him looking, can picture that imploring look on Moomintroll’s face with startling clarity. It feels like being squeezed too tight.

Snufkin takes the top card from the deck and turns it, sighing deep through his nose. The Fool, inverted.

Snufkin puts the deck back down to the grass as though it’s burned him.  
  
‘I think that’s enough for now,’ Snufkin says to the question he won’t let Moomintroll ask yet. ‘Why don’t we think about what to do for the afternoon?’  
  
Moomintroll reaches down for the deck, replacing the Fool back into it like sliding a book back into place. Moomintroll holds them awkwardly in his paws, unused to them and he nearly spills them over a few times as he attempts to shuffle himself.  
  
‘Can I have a go?’  
  
Snufkin watches Moomintroll struggle with them. ‘Do you have a question?’  
  
‘Not really,’ Moomintroll says, sounding truthful and he frowns with concentration as he tries to keep the cards together. ‘But I am curious about something.’  
  
Once he feels the deck is sufficiently shuffled, he holds them back to Snufkin to draw. Snufkin takes them, fascinated.  
  
‘You should think of something particular.’  
  
‘I did. I said I didn’t have a question which isn’t the same as not wanting to know something,’ Moomintroll answers plainly, nodding down towards the deck in Snufkin’s hands. ‘Go on then, give us a go.’  
  
Snufkin puts his hand on the top card, nervous and unwilling if he's to be honest. It feels indecent, somehow, to pry a reading from Moomintroll like this. But he draws anyway and when he turns it over on the grass, his breath catches.  
  
‘The Moon?’ Moomintroll reads, head tilted to do so. He looks to Snufkin. ‘What does that mean?’  
  
How is Snufkin meant to answer such a thing? Snufkin just looks at Moomintroll instead- truly looks at him, for what feels like a long time and tries to see past the kindness in his eyes. But Snufkin can’t see anything, can’t sense a brooding like he might smell rain.  
  
‘Were you asking about yourself?’ Snufkin asks quietly and Moomintroll ruffles, a little embarrassed it seems.  
  
‘Hardly going to go poking my nose into other people’s fortunes, now am I?’ Moomintroll says to that and Snufkin reaches out to hold his face. At the touch, Moomintroll falls quiet instantly.  
  
‘Are you well, Moonintroll?’  
  
Moomintroll’s eyes go wide and he jumps.  
  
‘Bugger it, I’m going to get sick, aren’t I? Is it from all that rain?’ Moomintroll asks with a squeak. ‘Great Groke, I’m not dying am I?’  
  
Snufkin laughs despite himself and it catches them both by surprise. ‘No, you’re certainly not dying.’  
  
‘But it’s not good, is it?’  
  
‘I’m afraid that’s rather subjective,’ Snufkin deflects though it’s not strictly speaking true. He’s near whispering, like they’re under the blanket as children and telling secrets. ‘At its core, I suppose you could say that it’s warning you that things are not what they appear.’  
  
Snufkin thinks of his own seven of swords and feels a hard jolt of guilt.  
  
‘And that the truth of that may wound you greatly,’ Snufkin finishes, trailing off and he goes to move away, but Moomintroll stops him, putting a paw over the hand on his face.  
  
‘Alright, have to admit I’m not too chuffed with that.’  
  
Snufkin feels that’s fair and he looks down at the card, quite ill all of a sudden deep in the pit of his stomach.  
  
 _Would you still be my friend if I were to do something terrible?_ Snufkin wants to ask but can’t bring himself to.

 _Of course,_ Moomintroll would say. How could Snufkin even think otherwise?  
  
But Moomintroll doesn’t know that, doesn’t know these things like Snufkin does and so Snufkin keeps his mouth shut on it. Perhaps it won’t come to it at all.  
  
‘Was it worse than your reading?’ Moomintroll asks, rubbing his thumb on the back of Snufkin’s hand, Snufkin’s need to be away snuffed out abruptly.  
  
‘Not worse. Nor better. Simply another perspective.’  
  
‘Well, thanks. That clears it right up,’ Moomintroll says sarcastically and Snufkin frowns at him, unimpressed. ‘At least we’re stuck with shoddy fortunes together, right?’  
  
Snufkin feels the turn in his gut, like a reel on his rod. Twisting the line until it groans with protest.

Dread. No, not quite. It’s a little more certain than that. Snufkin takes his hand away from Moomintroll’s cheek and takes his paw instead, petting the downy fur of it.  
  
‘I think I need to go away for a bit,’ Snufkin says and Moomintroll’s face crumbles, crestfallen.  
  
‘Again?’ Moomintroll turns his paw and holds Snufkin’s hand with it. ‘Can I come with you?’  
  
‘Not this time,’ Snufkin says with a shake of his head.  
  
‘Is it about the cards?’  
  
‘No. Not quite,’ Snufkin says, as truthfully as he can and he pulls away. He takes the cards with him as he stands, pulling out their little silk pouch. He looks out across the stream as he replaces them, thoughtful. ‘Might head to the coast this time. I think I need a change of scenery.’  
  
‘You’re thinking of leaving again, aren’t you?’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t know what to say.   
  
‘Not yet,’ he settles on, half-true.  
  
‘But soon, right?’  
  
Snufkin tugs on his scarf. ‘Yes. Probably soon.’

’It’s not even Midsummer yet. It’s too early.’

’Sometimes I leave early.’  
  
Moomintroll sighs. ‘You know, it’s very hard not to take that personally.’  
  
‘But you won’t, will you?’  
  
‘I might if I thought it would make you stay,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin bites down on the flicker of impatience that hits him.  
  
Snufkin knows Moomintroll won’t stop him even though he wants to, but how often Snufkin has imagined Moomintroll might say something else, like he might just say that this time when Snufkin leaves, just this once, it’s alright for him to do so.  
  
 _Of course,_ he might say some day. _You have to be free, I understand. I understand._  
  
Not this one but perhaps next time. Perhaps.  
  
'Have you thought about what I asked you?' Moomintroll says, eyes down on the stream. Snufkin fidgets with the ribbon of his pouch.   
  
'I have thought about it.'  
  
'And?'  
  
'Tuh. And,' Snufkin says, tutting. Moomintroll looks at him and Snufkin realises that Moomintroll already knows, he just wants Snufkin to say it. 'I still need to think.'  
  
Moomintroll sighs. 'I see.'  
  
'It’s a lot to consider,' Snufkin says, watching Moomintroll's face. Thinking of the Moon and feeling the worry twinge. 'I wish you could understand that. I must be alone when away if I am to be together here as well and to have you with makes it all so very fuzzy.'  
  
'Not everything has to be one thing or another, Snuff.'  
  
'That's not what I mean,' Snufkin says, turning his head. He keeps it down, hides his face as he thinks of how best to say.   
  
In the end, he doesn't have to as Moomintroll sighs, clambering up from the bank as he does. his tail swings limp behind him- a sign of an unhappy troll, Snufkin thinks.   
  
'Don't worry about it,' Moomintroll says, scratching at one of his ears and looking anywhere but at Snufkin it seems. 'I don't know why I asked in the first place. I knew- I mean, I'd thought that, but you know what? Just forget it.'  
  
'Moomintroll,' Snufkin says, an unpleasant churn of anxiousness in his stomach. 'I’m still thinking.'

’Snufkin-‘

’Not decided. I hope you’re not too upset.’

Moomintroll looks at him then and Snufkin watches the frown melt from his face.  
  
'Oh, Snufkin.' Moomintroll steps closer, tipping Snufkin's hat back. He does that now, slips right in and reveals Snufkin like turning a page in a book. 'I'm not upset.'  
  
Snufkin isn't sure he believes him but it's very hard not to be a convinced even just a little when Moomintroll's soft snout comes up to his cheek. The hairs by Snufkin's ear tickle with the breath from Moomintroll's nose and Snufkin feels that horrible nag inside ease.   
  
'Are you quite sure of that?'  
  
'Look, I know I’m chancing my paw anyway,’ Moomintroll tells him and he takes Snufkin's chin before he manages to look away. 'If you still need to think about it then that’s fine. I'm not odd with you or anything, I swear. It's just- you know, who you are.'  
  
'Who I am,' Snufkin says quietly and Moomintroll pulls back, eyes the colour of bright beetle wings.   
  
'Yeah. And I happen to like you,' Moomintroll says and he's smiling, even if Snufkin can't see his mouth from this close. Moomintroll has a way of smiling with his eyes that makes Snufkin go warm like a sunny day. 'Even if you heartlessly ditch me in the middle of summer.'  
  
‘Not for long. And at least you’ll have Snorkmaiden to keep you busy. And Midsummer, of course,’ Snufkin suggests meekly. Moomintroll snorts and steps back, brushing away stray strands of grass on his pelt as he does.  
  
‘I would’ve thought that was all the more reason for you not to go. Shame of a break if you spend it worrying,’ Moomintroll says, the shadow from before gone entirely and he's teasing now.

Snufkin raises his eyebrows in question and Moomintroll shrugs, grinning.

‘I can promise not to get too cosy, but I can’t help it if she’s unable to resist my charms.  
  
Snufkin gives Moomintroll a very long look over, before flatly saying; ‘I think she’ll manage resisting you just fine.’  
  
Moomintroll deflates.

‘You couldn’t even pretend, not even for a bit?’  
  
‘What’s there to pretend? Do you plan on charming Snorkmaiden?’ Snufkin says, heading towards his tent and starting to pull his blankets out of it so he can take it down.  
  
‘Of course not!’  
  
‘Then I have little to worry about.’  
  
‘I’m just saying that even if I’m not planning on it doesn’t mean it’s entirely impossible she might be charmed all the same!’  
  
‘Think your charms that impressive, do you?’ Snufkin asks, pulling up one of the pegs of his tent.  
  
‘Well, they worked on you,’ Moomintroll retorts and Snufkin blushes instantly, glaring at Moomintroll from under his hat. Moomintroll looks entirely too sure of himself. ‘So I’d say they’re a cracker at something, alright.’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t dignify such cockiness with a reply, instead focusing on his tent but Moomintroll hovers close anyway as though basking in what he finds to be his own cleverness.

At least he steps in to help Snufkin catch the tent as it collapses, handing Snufkin his red string to tie up his sleeping mat after.  
  
‘You kept it?’ Moomintroll asks, letting Snufkin pull it through his fingers.  
  
‘It’s useful,’ Snufkin says instead of saying _Of course._ That’s rather too complicated to explain, even now. ‘Much better than the old one and you were right then, it would’ve been a shame to waste it.’  
  
‘I’m glad,’ Moomintroll says and he’s looking at Snufkin’s hands as they strap the sleeping mat to his pack. ‘It’s nice, actually. Knowing you keep things sometimes.’  
  
They look at each other then, Snufkin trying to gauge that wistful smile on Moomintroll’s face.  
  
‘Some things should be kept,’ Snufkin says softly as he stands. ‘Just like some things are let go.’  
  
‘If you say so,’ Moomintroll replies, blinking away whatever it was that he was thinking and Snufkin considers asking, but leaves it be. ‘Will you be gone long?’  
  
‘I doubt it. Back before you have time to miss me.’  
  
‘Impossible, I near miss you already,’ Moomintroll tells him before he leans forward, pressing his nose to Snufkin’s and Snufkin sighs, sinking into the soft feeling that fizzles from the gesture.  
  
The warm little bubble between them pops almost immediately at the loud, shrill holler of _Great Hemulen snout!_  
  
Snufkin yelps in fright, throwing both hands forward to get Moomintroll off him as quickly as possible. Moomintroll wobbles for one long, horrible moment before he teeters entirely backwards on his weight and falls tail first into the stream.  
  
He hits the water with an almighty splash and Snufkin snaps his hands up to his chest, looking over to see Sniff, Snorkmaiden and Little My standing at the end of the bridge.

Snorkmaiden makes a worried, cooing noise at once and rushes over towards Moomintroll’s thrashing while Little My cackles wildly, doubling over.  
  
Sniff, however, has one paw pointing straight at them, mouth agape and his ears straight as poles in shock.  
  
‘Did- were you- _were you snogging Moomintroll?’_ Sniff stutters through with a pitch as high as dog-whistles and Snufkin drops his head into both hands as he hears Moomintroll toss about in the shallow end of the stream.  
  
‘No!’ Snufkin snaps though that is quite obviously untrue, but he’s much too mortified to admit as such.  
  
‘You were so!’ Sniff says, getting more excited by the minute it appears as he starts hopping on his feet. ‘You were snogging!’  
  
‘Oh, Moomintroll, are you alright?’ Snorkmaiden asks sympathetically, helping to hoist Moomintroll out of the water. Snufkin glances over to see the stormy look Moomintroll tosses his way.

‘I don’t think it was a snog really,’ Little My says, wiping at her eyes as she giggles. ‘Didn’t quite get that far before he tossed Moomintroll's sorry arse into the stream!’  
  
‘Little My, language!’ Snorkmaiden scolds from where she’s helping Moomintroll pull off stray weeds and wildrye grass where it sticks to his sodden fur. There’s even some on his snout and Snufkin goes hot all over in embarrassment.  
  
He walks over and pulls off said grass. Moomintroll just looks at him archly. ‘Are you well?’  
  
‘I’ll live,’ Moomintroll replies balefully and Snufkin winces, deserving it really.  
  
‘What does it matter if it was a proper one or not? A kiss is a kiss!’ Sniff says and Little My howls with another wave of laughter. Sniff waves his paws manically. ‘Why on earth were they kissing?!’  
  
‘Well,’ Little My says between heaving breaths. ‘When a Moomin and a Snufkin love each other very much-‘  
  
‘Oh, buggering hell,’ Moomintroll sighs as he waves Snorkmaiden off where she’s trying to fish off skippers that are stuck to him. ‘Not that it’s anyone’s business, but we were not snogging.’  
  
‘But you were kissing!’  
  
‘Well-!’ Moomintroll starts, then stops.

Snufkin sneaks a look up at him from under his hat. Moomintroll doesn’t say anything else and Snufkin realises he’s waiting- waiting for Snufkin to say it’s all right and Snufkin feels such an immense surge of fondness it stuns him.

After a moment, he nods once.  
  
‘Well, if you must know- which by the way, you shouldn’t as again, none of your business!’ Moomintroll continues, flicking his ears to dislodge another strand of grass. ‘Snufkin and I are… sort of going… together.’  
  
‘Both of you?’ Sniff repeats and oh, if the ground were to swallow him all the way to the other side of the wide world, Snufkin still wouldn’t be far enough away from all this terrible business.  
  
‘Yes, that is rather what one means by going together,' Moomintroll replies tartly.  
  
‘What? Like a couple?’ Sniff says, sounding if possible even more shocked by this. ‘What about Snorkmaiden?’  
  
Moomintroll makes a stifled groaning noise as Snorkmaiden shimmers behind them a few different colours before settling back on yellow. ‘What about me?’  
  
‘Weren’t you two-?’ Sniff says, trailing off as Little My practically barks in hysterics behind him.  
  
‘Oh!’ Snorkmaiden turns a sickly green colour along her cheeks and she raises her paws to try and cover it. ‘Goodness, Sniff! Don’t you pay attention to anything! We broke up. Ages ago, now.’  
  
‘Because of Snufkin?’ Sniff asks and Snorkmaiden’s green turns lurid suddenly as Moomintroll replies loudly: _‘No!_ Of course not!’  
  
Snufkin and Snorkmaiden meet each other’s gaze, before looking away quickly. What a question.  
  
‘So, Snufkin’s your boyfriend?’ Sniff says and Snufkin actually whimpers, so incredibly uncomfortable. 'This just doesn't make any sense! How did this happen?'  
  
‘You were never one to play with a full deck, but really, Sniff, are you actually soft in the head?’ Little My says, cooling off at last it seems. ‘It’s really not as complicated as you make it sound, you know.’  
  
‘But why didn’t they tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell _me?’_ Sniff says, suddenly rounding on Moomintroll. ‘I’m supposed to be your best friend, Moomintroll!’  
  
‘What?’ Moomintroll and Snufkin both say at once. Moomintroll shakes his head. ‘I mean- that’s really nice that you think so, Sniff, but…’  
  
‘Swing and a miss there, you nit,’ Little My says, hopping down from the bridge to join the fray proper. ‘Snufkin’s his best friend.’  
  
‘He can’t be Moomintroll’s best friend and his boyfriend,’ Sniff replies, sticking his nose up in the air. ‘That’s just not very good manners, not to mention greedy.’  
  
‘A Mumrik doing something they shouldn’t, who’d have thought?’ Little My says, rolling her eyes.  
  
'Don't do that,' Moomintroll says to her, surprisingly stern and everyone turns to him in surprise.   
  
'Do what?'  
  
'Don't talk about Snufkin that way,' Moomintroll says firmly, stream water dripping from his ears still which rather undoes some of his steely demeanour. 'All that Mumrik business. It's not very nice.'  
  
'But...' Little My looks to Snufkin like he might have something to add, but Snufkin is just as baffled as she appears to be. 'He is one.'  
  
'Yeah, he is. And what of it?' Moomintroll says, leaning forward a little and Snufkin steps close on instinct.  
  
'Moomintroll, it's okay. She didn't mean-'  
  
'Yes, she did and now I'm telling her to stop,' Moomintroll says, cutting Snufkin off. He looks at Snufkin, his eyes so very blue and his face so very determined. 'I don't want anyone being unpleasant about you, ever.'  
  
'I'm not being unpleasant!' Little My snaps but Moomintroll ignores her.   
  
'You're not being nice either,' Moomintroll says and Little My puffs up her cheeks, affronted.   
  
'Oh, so that's how you're going to crack at it now, is it? Picking fights to seem all tough in front of Snufkin?'  
  
Snufkin steps between them, a hand to Moomintroll's chest. 'No one's picking fights.'  
  
'Little My would win if he was,' Sniff says unhelpfully and Snufkin gives him what he hopes is a sufficiently dirty look for it. Sniff wilts on receiving it. 

'That's not the point,' Snufkin says, turning to Moomintroll. 'She really didn't mean anything by it, Moomintroll.'  
  
'I don't care!' Moomintroll says, flicking his tail moodily. 'I don't want anyone saying things about you just because you're a Mumrik.'  
  
'We can't help my being that, Moomintroll.'  
  
Moomintroll looks like he wants to say more, but Snorkmaiden interrupts the whole lot of it with a cheery, if forced, call for tea.   
  
'There's still some of those jammy dodgers left!' she says, hurrying along to try and coax Sniff and Little My back towards Moominhouse.   
  
Little My meets Snufkin's eye before turning to leave. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. Snufkin knows exactly what she's thinking anyway.   
  
Once the two of them are alone again, Moomintroll suddenly ruffles all the way down in a quivery shake. He scatters water everywhere, including all over Snufkin, who might've complained had it not been his fault Moomintroll was soaked to begin with.

As it is, he simply wipes the stray water from his face with silent resignation.   
  
'It's not right, you know,' Moomintroll says, tapping the side of his head to clear water from his ears. 'What everyone says about Mumriks.'  
  
'I can't say I've ever noticed,' Snufkin says truthfully, getting back to the business of his packing. It's almost finished now. 'If people have opinions, they don't often say them to my face.'  
  
'No, I suppose they wouldn't. But they shouldn't say it at all. Not to you and definitely not to me.'  
  
'Does it matter to you?' Snufkin asks, finishing up and standing. He gives his pack a small kick to see it's sound. 'What they say, that is.'  
  
It takes a moment to realise Moomintroll hasn't answered him. Snufkin looks over, tilting his head as he tries to read the strange expression on Moomintroll's face.  
  
'I don't want anyone thinking...' Moomintroll trails off, ears drooping and Snufkin gets that creeping sensation again. The slow ripple of unease inside as though something has gone wrong, but he simply can't see which. 'I don't want anyone thinking I made the wrong decision, is all.'  
  
'Oh,' is all Snufkin can say to that as it wounds an awful lot more than it should.

Snufkin isn't sure why, but he suddenly feels a cold sting of disappointment at hearing that Moomintroll might care what anyone would think of his decisions one way or another. 

‘Is there a wrong decision?’ Snufkin asks, trying to appear cool. It works, as Moomintroll is far too fluffed up to notice anything amiss. 

‘I’m just tired of everyone saying you’re going to run off on me,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin freezes, slowly looking to his pack. Moomintroll does as well. ‘I mean, not like- I mean run off like, run off for good, you know?’

Snufkin doesn’t think that’s better but isn’t sure how to say without decidedly not-making a promise either way. Snufkin is very good at not-making promises but Moomintroll is equally good at seeing them when they aren’t there.

The need to get away, to get on the ocean or maybe past it on a little boat, grows stronger.

‘And when I said we’d tell everyone, that really wasn’t how I pictured it,’ Moomintroll adds, breaking off into a shaky laugh. ‘I think Sniff actually shed something he got such a shock.’

‘It wasn’t-' Snufkin tries to think of the word. ‘Preferable.’

‘No kidding,’ Moomintroll says, his laugh breaking off as he looks to Snufkin. ‘You’re alright though, aren’t you?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I know you weren’t mad keen on telling everyone to begin with. And you did push me into the stream.’

‘I didn’t mean to push you,’ Snufkin says which is really neither here nor there, but he says so anyway. ‘I was just surprised.’

‘And so was I. When I was pushed into the stream.’

‘Oh, shush,’ Snufkin huffs, shoving at Moomintroll with a hand on his chest. Moomintroll makes a big show of pretending to topple again, which Snufkin ignores primly by taking his pack up. ‘Hardly drowned, are you?’ 

‘Only in my sorrows,’ Moomintroll says as Snufkin straightens up. ‘Are you sure you have to go?’

He doesn’t mean it to, but Moomintroll’s question nettles all the same. 

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ Snufkin answers blandly, putting his hand up to Moomintroll’s snout and resting it there palm up. 

‘You’re just running off so you don’t have to face everyone.’

That may be part of it but Snufkin thinks it’s better than the truth. In his head, Snufkin feels there’s something rattling like Hattifattner seeds in his pocket. Little ideas and thoughts that he hopes won’t take root as he worries about what kind of choices Moomintroll thinks he’s making.

‘Goodbye, Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says instead of any of that, hesitant for a moment. Moomintroll takes pity and closes the distance, pressing his nose to Snufkin’s to kiss him. Snufkin sighs, feeling better for it. 

‘Come back soon,’ Moomintroll says through the kiss, pressing a little harder for a moment before he pulls back. 

Snufkin doesn’t say he will. But he waves once he hits the trees, Moomintroll still waiting by his camp. Moomintroll always waits until Snufkin is out of sight and Snufkin will walk until the feeling of being watched fades away.  
  
A decision like this is better made alone, after all.  
  
  


*/  


  
'It tastes better tea first,' Sniff says firmly, adding a third sugar cube to his tea as Snorkmaiden shakes her head at him.  
  
'It does not! That's a load of old tosh the Muddler made up because you never had anything but those old tin mugs,' she says, taking the sugar bowl off him entirely as he goes for a fourth cube. 'It's bad for the china to put the tea straight in.'  
  
'Now who's talking tosh!' Sniff replies and Moomin rolls his eyes. He meets Little My's as she does the same, both sharing a look of profound suffering and Moomin feels a kinship with her he rarely does. 'How are you supposed to know you've put the right amount of milk in doing it backwards like that?'

'Does it really matter when you put the milk in?' Moomin asks, not even caring all that much for tea. He's more for coffee, himself.   
  
'Oh, silly Moomintroll, you never were one for fine manners,' Snorkmaiden laments from her perch on the couch and Moomin thinks that's pretty unmannerly, but like she says- what would he know?   
  
'As opposed to you, who's such a delight,' Little My says and again, Moomin feels a stab of appreciation for her. So much so, he also feels a little niggle of guilt at snapping at her before.  
  
Moomin isn't sure what else to do with the horrible lurch he gets at hearing anyone talk about Snufkin like that other than shut it down. It feels too close to the bone somehow, and even admitting that much would be too much, Moomin feels.

After all, at the very least when in a couple one should trust the other person. Even if just to be themselves.   
  
It's all rather messy, really. Had it always been so? 

'How about we settle this properly?' Snorkmaiden says as Mama walks in, armed with another tray of additional teacups for herself and Papa, who follows after her with pipe lit. The smell is enough to make Moomin's eyes water and his heart ache.   
  
He misses Snufkin already. It's part of the aforethought mess, of course, but a welcome part. How nice it is, to have someone to miss this much even if it is equally unlovely to have the need to miss them at all. 

Moomin pushes the thought of Winter far from his mind as Mama sets the tray down, Snorkmaiden immediately leaping into a question of whether it truly is best to put the milk or tea first into the cup.   
  
'Tea first stains the cup,' Papa says as he takes his seat by the fireplace.   
  
'Not my cups. They're more than fit for purpose,' Mama says but she pours some milk into Papa's cup first anyway. For herself, she starts with tea. 'Personally, I think it's a question of preference.'  
  
'See?' Sniff says, poaching a jammy dodger from the plate as Snorkmaiden still won't release the sugar. 'It is about what tastes better!'

'That's not what she meant at all!' Snorkmaiden says and Moomin groans, dropping his snout into his paws.   
  
'What does it matter which goes first? Tea is tea, innit?' he says and he realises too late that he's snapped again. He flushes instantly, rubbing at his cheeks to calm down where his fur stands on end and fixes his eye on the bookshelf to avoid everyone else's.   
  
'What's got your tail in a knot?' Papa asks him, taking his tea from Mama as she passes it over. 

'Nothing,' Moomin replies, said tail whipping as though to prove how unknotted it is.   
  
'How about a nice story to lighten the mood then?' Papa says and Moomin makes a grumbled _Ugh_ just as Sniff and Snorkmaiden make a cheerful _Oh!_ 'I have a mighty tale here about your papa, Sniff, if you fancy hearing it!'

'Yes please!' Sniff says around a mouthful of jammy dodger. 'Might give me some inspiration! Been stuck for a Midsummer venture, you see and now's the best time to get people to fish out their pocketbooks. Before anyone spends too much at the merries.'  
  
'Er. Quite right,' Papa says, pulling a face but reaching for the book next to him on the coffee table. 'Let's begin, shall we?'  
  
Papa starts rambling on about his own origins and what such a thing would have to do with the Muddler is beyond Moomin's fragile attention, especially now as his mind already wandering.   
  
He should've pushed more to go along with Snufkin. Should've made it clearer how important it was. Then maybe Snufkin might've said _yes,_ and if he might've said _yes_ to this then he might have the chance to change his mind about saying _no_ to Winter. Moomintroll thinks he's owed at least that, surely?   
  
'Stop pining. It's pathetic,' Little My says, kicking him with her shoe. Moomin doesn't even have the fight to shove her back. 

'What else is there to be doing?'  
  
'You're sitting next to him. Grab Sniff's tail and pass it to me, I can think of a few things we could do to make this all a little more fun-'  
  
'Do you two quite mind?' Papa says loudly and startling both Moomin and Little My into attention. They look over to see him frowning at them over his book. 'Is there something you'd like to share?'  
  
'No, Papa. Sorry, I was just thinking,' Moomin says, sitting up straighter and trying to appear like he might give even the smallest toss about the story. Sniff shuffles next to him, tail flicking and Little My gets up from her seat on the arm, walking along the back of the couch towards it.   
  
'A family trait,' Papa says and Mama laughs softly, though she tries to cover it up as she heads back to the kitchen. 'What you thinking, son?'   
  
'Just... thinking,' Moomin answers awkwardly, put on the spot. 'About- you know, the ocean. And stuff.'  
  
He neglects to mention that this _stuff_ is most certainly Snufkin sitting by said ocean.  
  
'The ocean,' Papa repeats, looking after Mama for a long moment before, bizarrely, looking to Snorkmaiden next. 'Ah, yes. Yes, yes, I see.'  
  
'Do you?' Moomin says, highly doubting that. 

‘I know a longing Moomin when I see one, my lad,’ Papa says proudly and Moomin makes a sort of strangled sound of discomfort. 'Not to worry, I think you two will rather sort yourselves out soon enough.'  
  
Moomin grits his teeth, panicked and he looks wildly to Snorkmaiden who can only shrug. 'Sort ourselves-?'  
  
'Well, none of us were here thinking you two would be uncoupled for very long,' Papa continues and Snorkmaiden goes the colour of ripe raspberries. 'Of course I understand a young Moomins' need to be alone, to discover himself and his sense of spirit! But we are such romantic beasts at heart.'  
  
Moomin thinks he might've preferred the tea debate and going by the impatient huff Little My makes from her where she slinks across the cushions, she must be thinking the same.  
  
'We're not going to couple again,' Snorkmaiden says, pleasant but firm and the pink starts to fade a little.   
  
'As you shouldn't without a proper wooing,' Papa replies and Moomin looks desperately for Mama to help, but she's not back from the kitchen yet. Moomin thinks things can't possibly be worse than this, until-  
  
‘But why would he try wooing Snorkmaiden when he’s got Snufkin now?' Sniff says and Moomin seizes.  
  
Papa looks to Sniff as though he's just suggested Papa read his memoirs standing on his head. ‘What has Snufkin got to do with it?’  
  
Sniff’s face twists in confusion. ‘Ain't he Moomintroll’s-?'  
  
‘I think it’s time for more tea!’ Moomin says, cutting Sniff off and he stands up with purpose, disrupting Little My from where she'd been creeping towards Sniff's tail.  
  
‘Forget it, Moomintroll. Cats out of the bag,’ Little My tells him, upside-down against a cushion. ‘Best put the rest of them out of their misery.’  
  
‘Who’s miserable?’ Mama asks, walking in with a tart on a plate as Papa looks around, confused.  
  
‘Who’s cat?’ Papa adds, lowering the book proper. ‘I’m not very fond of them I must say, so before you say anything, I don’t care how cute or fluffy you think it to be, I won’t have it in the house.’  
  
Moomin looks around in a panic and sees Snorkmaiden looking at him from the couch. She smiles, making a small _go on_ gesture with her paws.  
  
‘I…’ Moomin isn’t sure how he feels doing this alone. Not that it can be helped. Snufkin probably wouldn't want to be here anyway. ‘I have something to tell you.’  
  
Papa shuts his book. ‘You’ve already got the cat in your room, don’t you?’  
  
‘What- No, no! Why would I have a cat in my room?’  
  
‘I thought someone said something about a cat?’  
  
‘Forget the cat, there’s no cat!’ Moomin snaps, frustrated and dragging a paw over his snout. ‘Bugger it.’  
  
‘Language, dear,’ Mama scolds blithely, taking up a slicer to start putting tart onto saucers. ‘No one fancies a kiss from a foul mouth.’  
  
‘Oh, I’d say someone fancies his mouth alright,’ Little My says and Moomin shudders, mortified and he puffs up instantly.  
  
‘Little My, don’t be crass!’ Snorkmaiden says sharply and Sniff starts muttering in the corner as well, wondering aloud if he’s the only one who doesn’t fancy Moomin at all- _not that you’re not a sound fellow or anything-_ and Papa is drumming his fingers along the cover of his book and Little My is laughing and-  
  
‘Snufkin and I are together!’ Moomin blurts out, eyes tightly shut like not looking might help.  
  
It’s doesn’t and the quiet that settles after his outburst settles down over him like a cold rain. He peeks an eye open, seeing his parents watching him. Papa has put his book down and Mama is smiling, eyes bright.  
  
‘I am so very pleased you’ve decided to tell us outright, dear,’ Mama says, going back to slicing the tart and still smiling.  
  
‘Snufkin?’ Papa says, unsure. ‘What do you mean together?’  
  
‘This will be easier for you than sneaking around. Neither of you had much talent for it, I’m afraid to say,’ Mama continues warmly.  
  
‘You noticed?’ Moomin says to her, aghast with embarrassment and Mama nods, taking up a saucer of tart and turning to Snorkmaiden with it.

‘Don’t beat yourself up too much about it, dear.’  
  
‘You knew about this?’ Papa asks her, a touch blustery and Moomin bristles at the tone.  
  
‘I had my suspicions.’  
  
‘Which is the same as knowing for a Moominmama as clever as you,’ Papa says and Mama preens for a moment as Papa turns to the room at large. ‘So am I right in thinking that I was the only one in the valley who didn’t know about this?’  
  
‘I didn’t until this morning!’ Sniff offers like his opinion matters a jot and Moomin tells him to _shut up_ through gritted teeth.  
  
‘Son,’ Papa says, addressing Moomin solely now and Moomin shrinks in on himself. ‘Is there any particular reason for all this subterfuge?’

‘I don’t know if I’d call it subterfuge…’ Moomin replies meekly. ‘We just didn’t feel like telling everyone straight away.’  
  
‘Of course, dear,’ Mama says, offering Snorkmaiden a fork for her tart. ‘You are a full grown Moomin in your own right, after all and these things are bound to be private.’  
  
‘But how long has this been going on?’ Papa asks, putting his book away on the coffee table and getting up.  
  
Moomin rubs the back of his neck. There’s an unpleasant dread lurking. ‘Um. For a bit.’  
  
‘How long qualifies as a bit?’  
  
‘Since May,’ Moomin answers and Papa’s eyebrows vanish under his hat. Moomin’s stomach plummets in the opposite direction.  
  
‘But you didn’t say at all!’ Papa says, sounding a little disappointed. ‘You know how I feel about secrets.’  
  
‘You love secrets,’ Little My adds and Papa nods emphatically.  
  
‘Yes, precisely! So it’s a touch hurtful to know my own son wouldn’t include me in his! Had you confided in me to start with you might’ve come to me for advice on such matters.’  
  
‘Advice?’ Moomin repeats, baffled.  
  
‘Well, I know a thing or two about wooing an adventurous creature now don’t I?’ Papa says and Mama laughs gently, a paw to her face as though bashful when Moomin knows she’s likely anything but.  
  
‘I’m not wooing him,’ Moomin says and both parents look at him again. ‘Kind of past that. When I say together, I mean together good and proper.’  
  
Papa sways on his feet, eyes wide. ‘Good gracious, you’ve not gone and _married_ him already have you?’  
  
Moomin chokes, spluttering over his own words as Little My erupts into a fit of hysterics. ‘No! No, no, no! Not married, no. Just… you know, together.’  
  
‘Like a couple?’ Papa asks and Moomin sighs loudly.  
  
‘Yes, a couple. Why is that so hard for everyone to believe?’  
  
Papa thinks about that for a moment before; ‘And does Snufkin know he’s in this couple with you?’  
  
‘What kind of question is that?’ Moomin says, pitching slightly into hysterics of his own. ‘Of course he does! Hardly going to swing it by myself without him noticing, am I?’  
  
‘It’s just unexpected, is all!’ Papa says, laughing slightly which doesn’t make Moomin feel all that much better. ‘With the rate of surprises you’re giving me, I’m half-expecting the fellow to walk in with a pram ahead of him.’  
  
‘The only children Snufkin ever had he stole by accident,’ Little My says which is as unhelpful as anything anyone has added so far and Moomin wishes he could toss them all of for it.  
  
‘Bug-‘ Mama narrows her eye at him and Moomin shifts gear quickly. ‘-gy-uggy. No one’s married and there are definitely no children of any description. We are simply two creatures who happen to find each other quite lovely and are now a couple.’  
  
‘Aww,’ Snorkmaiden says around a forkful of tart and Moomin is terribly embarrassed, but touched all the same by her support.  
  
‘Well then,’ Papa says, paws on his hips and still laughing. ‘I suppose a toast in order. Bring the fellow in, he doesn’t have to hide out in the garden. I think we’ll recover from the shock.’

‘Snufkin’s not here right now, actually,’ Moomin says quietly and Papa frowns.  
  
‘Where is he then?’  
  
Moomin doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know, so he tries for a breezy; ‘Oh, you know. Yonder.’  
  
‘Yonder?’ Papa repeats dubiously and Moomin nods, pinching his chin.  
  
‘Yeah, yeah. You know, as in, over…’ Moomin says, running out of steam quickly as he hears how ridiculous he sounds. ‘Over yonder mountains?’  
  
There’s a beat of almost silence, as Little My is snickering again.  
  
‘Gone again, has he?’ Papa says shrewdly and Moomin ruffles on the cheeks. ‘Well, I suppose a Fillyjonk never changes her stripes.’  
  
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Moomin asks tightly, hackles rising and both his parents blink in surprise.  
  
‘Nothing at all, dear,’ Mama says, placating with a soft paw extended.  
  
‘If you have something to say about his being a Mumrik-‘ Moomin starts to Papa before Mama tuts softly, shaking her head and Moomin cuts himself off.  
  
‘What would I have to say about that?’ Papa says, good humour cooling a little and Little My sighs.  
  
‘Don’t even get him started,’ she says, tipping her head in Moomin’s direction. ‘Bit of a sensitive subject today.’  
  
‘You’re the one who told me to begin with they’re not the marrying sort,’ Moomin says and Mama comes away from the table, a saucer in each hand.  
  
Papa scratches his chin. ‘I doubt very much I ever said such a thing.’  
  
‘You may as well have,' Moomin says moodily.   
  
‘But you’re not getting married, you said so yourself so what does it matter what I think one way or another,’ Papa points out and Moomin groans, frustrated.  
  
‘Didn’t you just say I should’ve come to you for advice?’  
  
Suddenly, Mama thrusts both of her arms out, sticking a saucer of tart beneath both Papa and Moomin’s noses.  
  
‘Now, now, my darlings,’ Mama says pleasant enough and Moomintroll and Papa exchange a look, knowing they’re toeing a line better not crossed. ‘Your tart will go stale and what a shame that would be during a celebration!’ She smiles at Moomin. ‘And it is a celebration, dear.’  
  
‘Is it?’ Moomin asks quietly, ashamed of himself but the fear that’s been long simmering inside him finally reveals itself for what it is.  
  
‘Of course,’ Mama says gently as Moomin takes his saucer and Papa his. She steps closer and puts both paws to Moomin’s cheeks. ‘You’ve been so happy this Summer. And Snufkin, too. And any time two people’s happiness comes together is worth a slice of tart and a merry go of it.’  
  
They eat their tart quietly, Sniff making happy little noises from the couch before yelping suddenly. Snorkmaiden jumps to catch the saucer before it hits the ground. Clearly, whatever Little My had planned for Sniff's tail, she's delivered on.   
  
'Oi! I can't believe- I can't believe you did that! My poor tail!'  
  
'It's only poor because it's attached to you!'

'Brandy!' Papa says suddenly. 'This calls for brandy.'  
  
'Need to steel yourself that badly, do you?' Little My snipes as she walks the back of the couch, obviously pleased, but Papa waves her off and puts his plate down.   
  
'Come on, Moomintroll, lad. Help with the glasses.'  
  
Moomin can think of nothing worse than being alone in the kitchen with Papa right now, but Mama gives him an encouraging kiss on the cheek, taking his saucer back off him so he can follow.  
  
In the kitchen, Moomin can still hear Sniff shrieking over the great grievance that has befallen him at the hands, (or more likely teeth), of Little My as Papa drags the step-stool over to get up to the drinks cabinet.   
  
'So, son,' Papa says, taking a few bottles out each to inspect. Moomin leans against the counter, staring out the window at the Summer evening creeping orange. 'I must say, I'm very interested to know made you change your mind?'  
  
'Change it from what to what?'  
  
'Well, last we spoke of this, you assured me that whatever you and Snufkin are it wasn't this,' Papa says, finally settling on the brandy he'd come for. 'So I'm just curious over what's changed.'  
  
'Nothing changed,' Moomin says, defensive and he crosses his arms. 'I just- we just, that is- it's complicated.'  
  
'I imagine it is,' Papa replies wearily, tapping the bottle neck with a finger. 'Just remember what I said to you before, if you can. About being careful.'

Moomin's hackles rise again and he mutters back, a touch petulant; 'I know my own heart, Papa.'  
  
'I don't doubt that, my boy.'  
  
'And I have a fair idea of Snufkin's, too.'  
  
'Hmm,' is all Papa says to that as he climbs back down and the disappointment kicks like Little My in a temper.

Moomin isn't sure what else he'd really expected but only after not getting it, does Moomin realise he wishes Papa would say _I'm happy for you_ the way he had when Moomin had brought Snorkmaiden home the first time. 

'Moomintroll, do you want my advice?' Papa says and Moomin flicks his tail moodily. 

'Not particularly. Didn't fancy it much the first time either.'  
  
'Be careful of your expectations,' Papa says anyway. 'It may not be easy, this thing you've decided. As is only right, I suppose. Every Moomin gets the call to them for an adventure of one sort or another, after all, but I'd rather hoped yours might carry you to mountains or canyons. I worry a heart is a very fragile thing to bet glory on.'  
  
'Glory?' Moomin echoes, baffled. 'Snufkin's not something I'm trying to win over. Or conquer. He's just...'  
  
Moomin isn't sure how to say, if he's honest. But it feels very good to think about him. The best, really.   
  
'Do you remember what I told about my friend? The Joxter?'  
  
'Yes,' Moomin replies sharply, already seeing where this is going. 'And yes, you told me he did a runner. But Snufkin's not like that. He comes back.'

'Quite, quite. He promises you. I've been told.' Papa motions for Moomin to get glasses and he turns to do so, taking them down from the cupboard.

'So, that's that,' Moomin says as he fishes out the tumblers.   
  
'My friend promised we'd meet again,' Papa says and Moomin glances over, see it's now his father looking distantly out the window. 'And perhaps we still might. Never quite know what the future may show! But we haven't met since. A promise can be kept right up to the moment it's broken. Do you understand, son?'  
  
Moomin thinks he understands too well and it turns inside like a tide.

'You're my one and only son,' Papa says, walking over to put a paw on Moomin's shoulder. 'Your mother and I will love you to the moon and back. Stop at every star, too, just for good measure. I just want the best for you, you see. For life to be kind to you if not always easy. And for you to live it to the very fullest with every twist or turn or act of wondrous valour owed to you by your birthright.'  
  
Papa looks a tad misty in the eye and Moomin grits his teeth, awkwardly wondering what to say other than the muted _thanks_ that seems to be bubbling up his throat.   
  
'You deserve your own story, son. Not to just be one chapter in someone else's,' Papa says to him. 'I just don't want you missing out anything because you're too busy waiting for someone, even if you care about them.'

'Snufkin's worth waiting for,' Moomin says resolutely. 'And it's nothing I don't know already. Kind of an expert by now, really.'

'I suppose you are,' Papa says softly, patting Moomin's shoulder. 'A father worries, I guess. I certainly do over that poor heart of yours.'  
  
'I guess,' Moomin replies quietly, watching his father carefully. 'Papa, did your friend break your heart?'

'He hasn't yet,' Papa says with a small laugh and it's clear he's off thinking again about things from before- before Moomin, before Mama and before before before. 'That's the thing about friends. We let them in our heart but we don't give it to them, so it's easy to think a friend can't break it to begin with.'  
  
'But they can,' Moomin says and Papa hums in agreement.   
  
'Yes, I rather think they can,' Papa says, popping the brandy and pouring two glasses. He slides one over to Moomin. 'A cheeky one, just before we head in. But yes, yes. Losing a friend is a funny thing, especially when they are truly lost like one might lose their pin or spectacles. Where does one even think to look? At least your spectacles stay where you left them but a friend tends to wander. But when I lost a friend, I gained a love. I worry that someday you may lose both altogether and I can't imagine what that might be like.'  
  
'But maybe I won't!' Moomin says, staring down at the chestnut-coloured brandy. 'And even if I do, it might... I don't know for certain. But I really think it might be worth it all the same.'  
  
'Did you two get lost in here?' a voice says and both of them turn to the door where Sniff is standing, holding his tail tightly in his paws. 'I thought you'd gone for brandy?'  
  
'And brandy we have!' Papa says, flourishing said bottle of and he walks off, leaving Moomin to fetch a tray for the rest of the glasses. 

In the living room, Mama has set the record player up and some soft but merry tune is playing. Snorkmaiden and Little My are swaying, close but pointedly not together though Moomin doubts that'll last much longer. Snorkmaiden can't resist finding a partner in all she does, even if the only sorry excuse for one is Little My.

Or not sorry, as the case may be as she only ever laughs when Sniff tosses her a baleful look.  
  
Then everything stops with a knock on the door.   
  
Moomin's closest, so he puts his glass away and goes to answer it.   
  
'Snufkin!' he cries, utterly delighted to find Snufkin of all creatures standing on the doorstep.   
  
Snufkin smiles but it goes quickly, his dark eyes roaming over Moomintroll's shoulder. 'Oh. I'm interrupting.'  
  
'Don't be daft,' Moomin says, stepping aside and ushering Snufkin in. 'And even if you were, I'd always have you interrupt. What are you doing here? What happened to going to the coast?’

'I needed to speak with you,' Snufkin says ominously and just to pour salt in the wound, Little My starts hollering over the merriment;  
  
'Typical! Just when you guys make a big old fuss, you break up!'  
  
'We're not breaking up!' Moomin tells her firmly as Snufkin shrinks under his pack, head down though he's clearly trying to have a sconce of the room. 

'This party is about us?' he asks, tone strange and Moomintroll scratches his ear, embarrassed.   
  
'A little. Yeah.'  
  
'Oh,' Snufkin says again and Moomin knows by the nervous way Snufkin still grips both straps of his bag that he doesn't want to be touched right now. Moomin wants to all the same. 'That's... nice.'  
  
'You think so?' Moomin says, surprised and Snufkin sneaks a look up at him from under his hat.   
  
'Yes,' Snufkin replies softly, before licking his lips. 'But I do wish to speak with you. Privately.'  
  
'Right. Yeah, um,' Moomin fumbles miserably, ridiculously embarrassed to be doing this strange little couple-dance in front of his parents. He's suddenly quite unsure how to be. 'How about the veranda, sound good?'  
  
They ignore Little My's teasing as they head straight through to the house to the veranda at the other side. Once there, Moomin makes sure the door is firmly shut. He thinks the music has gotten louder and he makes a note to thank either Mama or Snorkmaiden for that.   
  
The evening is balmy around them, sun truly setting now and the dusk is a rolling purple.   
  
'So,' Moomin says as Snufkin puts his pack down, face turned out towards the meadow. 'What's on your mind?'  
  
'It's rather muddled, you understand.'  
  
'That's not very like you,' Moomin says and Snufkin turns to him suddenly, one hand anxiously tugging on his scarf. 

‘Do you want to get married, Moomintroll?’  
  
Moomin is glad he's left his brandy inside- or he'd have choked on it.   
  
_'What?'_ Moomin shakes his head, sure he's misheard and says again; 'What?'

‘Married,’ Snufkin repeats. ‘Do you want to get married?’

‘Marry- what?’ Moomin can barely make sense of the question never mind a sensible answer to it. ‘What? Like, right now?’

‘No,’ Snufkin says, rolling his eyes like this were any dafter a question than Snufkin's own. ‘But maybe some day.’

‘Uh. Right, well,’ Moomin says, completely at a loss. His tail swings around and he takes it into his paws, tugging on the stray hairs at the end. ‘I don’t know. Bit far off to be thinking of that, right?’

‘But do you think that you might do?’

‘What on earth's brought this on?’ Moomin asks, looking at Snufkin a touch more carefully but Snufkin ducks his head, glaring with narrow eyes sharply up from under the brim of his hat like he knows what Moomin is trying.  
  
Moomin thinks for a moment, before groaning; 'Oh, this doesn't have something to do with Snorkmaiden, does it?'

Snufkin's moody silence is all Moomin needs really. 

'By a Hemulen's long tail,' Moomin sighs, pinching between his eyes as he tries to decide whether he's going to laugh or cry with frustration. 'Whatever she told you, you shouldn't listen, alright? We were coupled for so long and since we were kids, really! She shouldn't be putting silly thoughts in your head.'

'What silly thoughts might that be?'

'I only thought I wanted to marry her because that's what everyone else thought,' Moomin says, settling on laughter in the end but it dies quite abruptly in his chest when he sees the look on Snufkin's face. 'Snufkin, what is it?'

'I always thought you'd marry her,' Snufkin says, the words very little he's so quiet. 'It seemed like the done thing.'

'I guess it would've been, if we'd stayed coupled.'

'And now you're coupled with me,' Snufkin says and Moomin frowns, not entirely sure where this is going. 'So I'm asking you, what is the thing to be done on that?'

Moomin has to pick that apart before he feels he can answer. 'Are you... are you telling me you want to get married someday?'

'No!' Snufkin snaps, flustered instantly. 'Definitely not.'

That stings, and it really rather shouldn't. But Moomin feels the words hit him like a door that has suddenly been shut to a room he hadn't known to look in yet.

'Then... I guess that's that sorted,' Moomin says slowly, trying to shake off the unpleasant feeling.

'Just like that?' Snufkin asks, cautious and Moomin tries to smile. 

'Just like that,' he echoes back. But Snufkin still looks uneasy, hands wringing together. Moomin reaches out with his paw and covers them. 'Is there something else?'

'No,' Snufkin replies quickly, before stammering; 'Or not quite. Yes, I suppose.'

'Are you going to tell me or-?'

'That thing you asked me. Before,' Snufkin says, ceasing his anxious wringing and taking Moomin's paw in both hands. 'About coming with me. I- I...'

'You what?' Moomin asks, frightfully eager with his hopes getting far too high. 

Snufkin looks at him with so strange an expression. Almost a frown, but not. So like Snufkin in most things he does, really. Almost, but not.

'It's not possible,' Snufkin finally says but he's so quiet, Moomin doesn't understand straight away. 'I'm sorry but you can't.'

'Can't...' Moomin blinks, a horrible hurt plunging inside of him. 'Oh.'

'I am sorry,' Snufkin says again and he does sound it, but Moomin can't think of anything else to say. 'But I have thought of something else.'

Moomin frowns, confused. 'Something else?'

'Yes, I've actually been thinking on it all day. And when I thought more, I knew I had to come back,' Snufkin continues and Moomin tries to focus on something other than the cold weight settling inside of him. 'This Winter, would you have me stay?'

Now that throws Moomin entirely.

'Stay?'

'Here, that is,' Snufkin adds, leaning closer. 'Would you have me stay here in the valley this Winter?'

Moomin gapes. He looks around, half-expecting Little My to burst from over the railing and tell him this is all some horribly cruel joke. But she doesn't.  
  
Moomin shakes his head, feeling distinctly like he's missed the bit between this moment now and whatever must've happened to cause it. 

'I don't understand.'

'It's simple really,' Snufkin says, voice a little unsteady. ‘Would you have me stay? If you had the choice.’

Snufkin's eyes are very dark. It’s like rainclouds in the distance and it makes Moomin uneasy. 

‘But I don’t?’ Moomin replies slowly and Snufkin crumples a little.

‘I’m giving it to you,’ Snufkin says, a touch breathy with a quiet desperation Moomin hasn’t even seen before. Snufkin squeezes the paw in his hands, holds so tight Moomin can just about feel his nails through his fur. ‘Now you get the choice so choose. Would you have me stay here during the Winter?’

Moomin hesitates, trying to understand the expression on Snufkin’s face. How many times can Moomin think of how well he knows him and yet see so very little in his face. Sometimes it’s so clear and all Moomin wishes for now is even a clue. 

It seems too good to be true. Moomin clutches Snufkin back, urging him closer as he tries to sort out the jumble of ideas going around in his head. 

The answer is of course _Yes._ A desperate, longing _Yes_ that Moomin feels has been waiting on the tip of his tongue for many years. 

Could it even be possible? After all this time?

‘Moomintroll.’ Snufkin says his name like someone biting a fruit. ‘Say it.’

‘Yes,’ Moomin answers before he can stop himself and then none of it can be stopped. ‘Alright, yes, I would. If I had the choice. But it's not my choice!’

'I told you, I'm giving it to you,' Snufkin tells him, like that makes any more sense. 

'But why?'   
  
'Because I would like to give it,' Snufkin says earnestly, leaning closer and Moomin thinks he might kiss him, but he doesn't. 'Is that not reason enough?'  
  
'I just don't understand what you're saying, Snuff.'  
  
'Ask me to stay,' Snufkin tells him, gripping so very tight. Moomin looks at him and aches.   
  
'Please stay,' Moomin says, giving in at last and the relief that erupts inside him is better than any brandy. 'Please will you stay with me?'  
  
There's a long moment of quiet, Snufkin still like a stone and Moomin feels a cold seep in, worried he's done something wrong.   
  
But then, Snufkin nods. He only nods once and it's enough. 

Something shutters in Snufkin’s eyes but then it’s gone- he’s blinked and that darkness has vanished, his smile blooming and Moomin takes his face in paw and kisses him. Smells the lingering tobacco and sweat, feels so giddy that he starts laughing half-way through it.

‘Are you sure?’ Moomin asks, still close. Still touching and Snufkin shudders against him with a great breath. 

‘It’s already decided,’ Snufkin tells him and Moomin is so very happy, kissing along Snufkin’s cheeks and his neck, down where he smells even better. 

Snufkin hugs him back, his hands digging into Moomin’s back and his lips pressing into Moomin’s shoulder. And, just for a moment, his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> joxter is of course snufkin's father same as always, but i figure there's probably reason papa doesn't bring it up for like a million years so...
> 
> also the most understanding moomin has ever been of snufkin in the 2019 series was in snufkin's head which i find telling 
> 
> _leave like that_ by SYML is today's song addition.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you’re not one for angst... I might suggest checking back in at the end.

Autumn comes faster than Moomin thought possible. But this year, it’s not quite as melancholy to watch the leaves go red and fall to a harder soil. Because this year, Snufkin is staying.  
  
Moomin turns over to him now, where he lies in a bed of withering leaves. Snufkin looks luminous, verdant and lovely with his eyes staring up at the sky. It feels like there is so much sky now, with the trees bare. As though it’s a great sheet suddenly unrolled and Moomin could take a step off the world, fall through the sky without a single leaf to hold onto.  
  
‘Hi,’ Moomin says and Snufkin tilts his head, watching him.  
  
‘Hello?’

Moomin presses forward, kissing his nose.  
  
‘Is that all you wanted?’ Snufkin asks, amused and Moomin shrugs.  
  
‘All I need really,’ he says, going back to watching the clouds.  
  
‘I suppose I can’t argue with that,’ Snufkin says and he shuffles, rolling over and all the leaves crunch beneath him. He throws an arm over Moomin’s round belly, puts his head on Moomin’s chest and Moomin can feel his nose poke him.  
  
‘How am I supposed to resist someone as fine as you anyway?’  
  
‘Admiration has made you blind, Moomintroll.’  
  
‘There’s another word for it.’  
  
Snufkin twitches like the wing of some startled bird.

Moomin wishes he could see him properly from here, but the best he can do is see some of the copper hair from Snufkin’s head around his snout. Snufkin opens his palm on Moomin’s belly, running his fingers across the fur there backwards so Moomin giggles with the ticklish sensation.  
  
‘Foolishness?’ Snufkin eventually suggests and Moomin frowns up the clouds.  
  
‘Not exactly what I was thinking.’  
  
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Snufkin says, leaning up so he can look at Moomin over his snout. Snufkin raises a hand, touching two fingers lightly to the end of Moomin’s nose and holds there for a moment. Moomin has the strangest sense of deja-vu. ‘Some things are better thought than said though, don’t you think? All the sweeter for being unheard.’  
  
‘Um,’ Moomin manages to say to that, as he doesn’t really think that at all himself. ‘Depends on what the thought is.’  
  
‘Like I said, I already know what the thought is,’ Snufkin says, smiling and his face goes pink. That sunburn blush that makes Moomin feel like jelly inside. Moomin wraps an arm around him, holding Snufkin in place.  
  
‘And what do you think of my thought?’  
  
‘I think it’s the most darling thought anyone could have.’  
  
‘Is that all?’  
  
Snufkin grins, almost wickedly and he leans down, pressing his lips to Moomin’s nose and letting his weight sink against him.  
  
‘Not all. No.’  
  
Moomin waits, but Snufkin doesn’t say anything else and Moomin loses his nerve. But what does it matter? Snufkin knows what he means anyway and they’ve got time. More than they’ve ever had.  
  
Moomin goes back to watching the clouds carry on the wind, wispy and shapeless. Despite his best efforts, Moomin can’t see a blessed thing in them. Snufkin pats his chest, abruptly sitting up and Moomin lets him go reluctantly.

Snufkin is staring out across the valley, out at something Moomin could never see.  
  
‘What are you looking at?’ Moomin asks him.  
  
‘Snow,’ Snufkin says, looking up at the sky. It’s still clear. ‘It’s going to snow today.’  
  
‘How can you possibly know that?’  
  
‘Just do,’ is all Snufkin says to that and he’s back to looking away.

Moomin pushes himself up, reaching out before hesitating. Suddenly, it feels like rather too much and Moomin settles for Snufkin’s shoulder instead.  
  
‘Are you thinking about leaving?’ Moomin asks, because it’s what he wants to know. Snufkin looks at him, face blank.  
  
‘I said I would stay.’  
  
‘I know you did.’  
  
Snufkin moves slightly, his shoulder slipping out of Moomin’s grip. ‘But you asked anyway.’  
  
‘I was only checking,’ Moomin says and it’s the wrong thing to say, he knows the moment it’s out.  
  
‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ Snufkin asks, sounding a touch hurt. He frowns. ‘Or did you think I couldn’t?’  
  
‘I think you can do anything you want to!’ Moomin replies hastily, trying to explain. ‘I just- I didn’t mean anything by it, Snufkin.’

Snufkin doesn’t answer that and Moomin rubs at his neck self-consciously.

It’s still the worst feeling, as much as it was when they were friends. When Moomin makes a wrong move, says the wrong thing and Snufkin retreats like something startled. When they were friends, it was actually quite annoying the way Snufkin would shut down like this, Moomin found.  
  
Now, Moomin isn’t annoyed. He’s guilty; frustrated with himself for still not being to read Snufkin properly. For still making the same mistakes when he ought to have learned better by now, he feels.  
  
‘I just worry about you,’ Moomin admits eventually and he puts his elbows on his knees, snout in his paws. ‘I don’t want you to be unhappy.’  
  
‘I’m not unhappy. Do you think I’m unhappy?’ Snufkin asks, rushed and a touch sharp.  
  
‘I don’t think you’re unhappy right now,’ Moomin explains, looking at the grass at his feet. It’s still green but brittle, almost crackling when they walk with cold. ‘I guess I’m worried about you being unhappy later.’  
  
Snufkin is silent for a moment before he sighs. He leans forward, taking advantage of Moomin bent over like this and places his head on top of Moomin’s, chin digging in between his ears.

‘You shouldn’t worry about later, Moomintroll. Later isn’t worried about you.’  
  
‘But don’t you worry about the future?’  
  
‘I make a point not to,’ Snufkin says, sounding oh so wise and raising a hand to the back of Moomin’s neck. ‘Things will happen when they happen. Like the snow, the future comes whether we like it not. It doesn’t care for our preferences.’  
  
Moomin doesn’t like the sound of that, he must admit. It feels a little too like giving up something or another. ‘But we get a say, don’t we? What about our decisions?’  
  
‘I make those, too. Or sometimes they make me. Either way, it comes as it comes, right?’  
  
Moomin can’t make head nor tail of that being honest, but he doesn’t want to admit as such to Snufkin who sounds very confident about the whole thing.  
  
‘You chose to stay here,’ Moomin says, pushing his luck he knows from the way Snufkin’s hand stills from where it was rubbing Moomin’s fur.  
  
‘I did,’ Snufkin says cautiously and Moomin licks his lips, nervous. But Snufkin adds before Moomin can speak again; ‘I chose to stay with you, actually. Which is a little different.’  
  
‘Is it?’ Moomin asks, interested and he sits back up so he can look at Snufkin proper. Snufkin gets off him, sitting back on his ankles and watching Moomin’s face. ‘What if I wasn’t here? What if I was somewhere else?’  
  
‘Then I suppose I’d be there instead of here.’  
  
‘Just like that? That easy?’  
  
‘I never said it was easy,’ Snufkin says with a smile, like he’s joking but Moomin feels that a little keener than he thinks was intended.  
  
‘Is it hard?’ Moomin sounds a shade pleading and blushes, mortified and tries to rectify. ‘I mean, are you okay staying here? Like you said, it’s going to snow today.’  
  
_And you always leave on the first snow,_ Moomin thinks but doesn’t say lest he jinx it all.  
  
‘I wouldn’t offer what I wasn’t willing to give you,’ Snufkin answers which isn’t really what Moomin is asking. Moomin tries to think how to explain better, how to navigate through the delicate defences of Snufkin’s conversation but Snufkin is already talking again; ‘What’s brought on all this worrying? It’s not very like you, Moomintroll.’  
  
‘Isn’t it? I always ask you not to leave this time of year, when I’m given the chance,’ Moomin says without thinking and Snufkin blinks, something too strange in his eye for Moomin to recognise.  
  
‘Is that what you’re doing now?’ Snufkin asks quietly, hands twitching anxiously on his lap. ‘Asking me not to leave.’  
  
‘You said you were staying,’ Moomin points out uselessly but Snufkin just looks at him, withering.  
  
‘I am staying,’ Snufkin says firmly and suddenly, something clicks at last in Moomin’s mind.  
  
‘You don’t have to prove anything to me,’ Moomin says and Snufkin reels back, eyes wide and Moomin knows he’s hit the mark. ‘If you need to leave, then we can leave. I’ll pack my bag right now and I’ll follow you anywhere you need to go.’  
  
‘Moomintroll...’ Snufkin raises a hand to his mouth, looking away as he steels himself from something it seems. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose. ‘What a creature you are, Moomintroll.’  
  
‘I hope that’s good.’  
  
‘It’s wonderful,’ Snufkin says gently, taking his hand away and smiling. ‘But we don’t need to leave. I told you already, I’m staying here with you and your place is here, Hibernating in the valley.’  
  
‘You can change your mind,’ Moomin says, but despite himself, he feels a small relief at Snufkin saying they don’t have to go anywhere. Moomin would do it; of course he would, if he had to. But the idea of travelling through the bitter wind and wet snow is less than appealing, even with a Snufkin to keep warm with.  
  
‘I shan’t,’ Snufkin says, taking Moomin’s paw in both hands. He runs his fingers over Moomin’s knuckles. ‘I think of you so dearly, I hope you know.’  
  
‘How so?’  
  
‘As much if not more than what you think of me,’ Snufkin says and the meaning lands so heavy in Moomin’s heart, like a warm duvet after a long day in the cold. ‘If you think of me, that is.’  
  
‘You know I do,’ Moomin tells him earnestly. ‘I think the most darling thought anyone can think of someone else.’  
  
‘Then we are darling together,’ Snufkin says and Moomin kisses him, cutting him off rudely but Snufkin doesn’t seem to mind. He lets Moomin kiss him, lets himself be pushed back down to the crunching leaves.   
  
Later that day, it does indeed snow. It comes in so quick, Moomin can’t help but feel it must been hiding just around the corner and he’d just been too daft to see it.  
  
The snow means it’s time for Hibernation and Mama gives him a big kiss before heading upstairs with Papa and Little My. Moomin waves his parents off, staying where he is in the living room. There’s snow starting to pile up on the windows now and he watches it for a few moments before taking the scarf from the couch. Mama has made it special- they don’t have much by way of Winter clothes.  
  
It’s quite cold outside now, Autumn truly snuffed out. He can almost taste it as he makes his way to Snufkin’s tent. It’s beginning to get snowed over, crisp white like bed linen and snow shimmers where Moomin knocks on the log outside.  
  
‘Come in!’ Snufkin says cheerfully and Moomin does, finding a veritable nest.  
  
Snufkin has his sleeping bag and one or two blankets arranged in what would seem like a mess if one didn’t know him. As Moomin knows him pretty well, he can see the bowl-like structure for the comfort that’s in it and Snufkin has weighed down even the inside of the tent with large, grey rocks in the corners.  
  
‘Battened down the hatches, have we?’ Moomin asks and Snufkin nods, going back to what he’s doing which appears to be stitching an extra lining to his smock. ‘Do you always do that?’  
  
‘Every time it snows, though I usually don’t have to fasten it quite as well,’ Snufkin says, tugging the string through with an ease Moomin is a little jealous of. The best Moomin can manage is a solid knot of rope. ‘I’m normally gone by now and just passing through snow as opposed to sitting in it. This requires a touch more stability.’  
  
‘Right,’ Moomin says and Snufkin looks up, leaning forward to press his nose to Moomin’s cheek. Moomin starts, always caught by surprise even after all the times Snufkin has done this very thing this season. ‘Impatient, were we?’  
  
‘Why wait for a kiss I can give myself,’ Snufkin says primly, returning to his stitching. ‘Have you come to say goodnight? Hibernation starts today.’  
  
‘Yes. Well, no, actually,’ Moomin says, then backtracks and Snufkin looks up, curious. ‘I’m not actually going to Hibernate this year.’  
  
Snufkin drops the hand with the needle, frowning. ‘Why on earth not?’  
  
‘Well, if you’re staying I don’t want to waste valuable time sleeping,’ Moomin explains, getting more comfortable so their shoulders brush together. ‘So what do you think? Okay to put up with me for the Winter?’  
  
‘I don’t put up with you,’ Snufkin says which is definitely not true all the time, but Moomin appreciates him saying so all the same. ‘But are you quite sure? It’s a Moomin's’ nature to Hibernate this time of year. I was prepared to spend it alone.’  
  
‘Why be alone when we can be together? That is always the point in asking you to stay, you know.’  
  
‘I thought you were happy just knowing I was near,’ Snufkin says, much quieter and he keeps his head down. Moomin realises he must be embarrassed and feels an affection so strong, it wipes his mind of anything clever to say for a moment.  
  
‘I’m always happier knowing you’re near. But I’ll know it better when I’m awake, won’t I?’ Moomin says, sickeningly fond and he can hear it himself. Might as well be embarrassing together, Moomin thinks. That’s a big part of being couple, after all.  
  
Snufkin seems to be considering that very carefully. When he speaks, he sounds a shade uncertain; ‘But Moomintroll, this is a serious thing. Not to be taken on lightly.’  
  
‘I know that and I’m really sure I want to do this,’ Moomin replies eagerly. Snufkin still doesn’t look convinced. ‘Will you stay in the house with me?’  
  
‘I have my tent,’ Snufkin says which is definitely not the point.  
  
‘I’m not telling you to stay in the house, I’m asking you if you would,’ Moomin replies, kissing Snufkin’s cheek because he can. Snufkin smells like his tent; of campfire and maybe even coffee. ‘Or I could stay here, I suppose.’  
  
‘Would you want to?’ Snufkin asks, sounding very dubious and Moomin must concede that. Much as he fancies the Mumrik in it, he doesn’t much care for the idea of sleeping on this hard, frozen ground under said tent. Nest or no.  
  
‘Preferably not, won’t lie. Thus that being the backup invitation.’  
  
‘I see,’ Snufkin says, putting his stitching away entirely at the side of the tent. As he leans over to do so, Moomin notices how slim his waist is. Snufkin is always skinny, (Moomin seeing a lot more of said narrowness in recent weeks than ever before),but has he always been quite so skinny?  
  
‘Are you eating enough?’ Moomin asks bluntly and Snufkin shrugs.  
  
‘Perhaps not as much as usual. The water is too cold for anything right now, and by the time the ice water fish show up, the stream will be frozen too thick to cut. I ran out of smoked fish about a week or so ago. Maybe longer, now I think about it.’  
  
‘You should’ve said!’ Moomin says, aghast. ‘There’s so much food in the pantry, and you’re more than welcome to it!’  
  
Snufkin gives him a smile, clearly touched and most certainly going to turn him down. Which he does; ‘Thank you, Moomintroll. But I’m just fine on my own.’  
  
‘But you don’t have to be,’ Moomin says, reaching out and getting his arms around him. He tugs Snufkin close, back to Moomin’s chest and under his snout. ‘You’ve got me now.’  
  
‘So I do,’ Snufkin laughs from under him, patting Moomin’s paws softly. ‘But I’m not going to go pilfering from your pantry.’

‘You may as well, I’m going to,’ Moomin says, bending down to press his lips to the top of Snufkin’s head. Snufkin makes a small, please hum. ‘Come to the house with me, please. At least tonight. It’s creepy being in that big place alone.’  
  
‘You won’t be alone, your parents and Little My will be upstairs.’  
  
‘Upstairs and asleep,’ Moomin teases, kissing Snufkin again. ‘So we may actually get a chance for some time together.’  
  
‘Because we’re starving for that,’ Snufkin laughs, but the phrasing just reminds Moomin of how thin he’s gotten. He tightens his grip around Snufkin’s waist, feels less of him and feels the dread settle. Dread for what exactly, Moomin can’t say. But he wants Snufkin in the house- he wants Snufkin warm, fed and in a bed.

Preferably Moomin’s bed, if he’s to be completely honest.  
  
‘All right, then. One night,’ Snufkin says then, patting Moomin’s shoulder. ‘But I better pack up. I don’t like to leave the tent unoccupied in the snow. Never know who might take a shine to it in the flurry and then what would I do?’  
  
‘I’ll help!’ Moomin says, fully intending on it, but in the end he mostly just holds what Snufkin gives him, Snufkin dismantling everything with much better practice.  
  
Moomin tries not to poke at it, the little bruising feeling in his mind as he watches Snufkin roll his sleeping bag up. He ties it in place with red string, the same from their Spring together and Moomin smiles at the memory.

But something lingers, as Snufkin bundles everything into his pack, smock buttoned up and hat on his head.  
  
Snufkin’s whole life fits in this pack, Moomin thinks. Everything else is just _for now._  
  
A shiver runs through him that has nothing to do with the cold and when Moomin takes Snufkin’s hand, leading him up to the house, he squeezes so tight he can feel Snufkin’s tiny bones shift.

  
  
*/

  
  
They fell asleep in the living room instead of the bedroom, curled up together on the couch under a thick blanket and after a successful raid of dried fruits and crackers for dinner.  
  
Moomin wakes first, which is unusual in itself but the exhaustion is pressing down on him even so. Putting off Hibernation, even by a day, is quite the work even when still sleeping it seems.  
  
The room is dark and for a moment, Moomin thinks it’s still night until he realises that it’s not dark sky out the living room window, but a thick wall of grey snow. Pressed up to the glass and so tight no sunlight is coming through.  
  
Snufkin is in front of him, his back to Moomin’s chest and face pressed into the soft fur of Moomin’s arm. Oh, he’s going to have fierce pins and needles once Snufkin gets up.

Moomin tries not to hurry that along, but Snufkin is too light a sleeper for something like a shuffling Moomin. Even if said Moomin is trying to shuffle minimally.  
  
‘Moomintroll?’ Snufkin asks, rolling over and bumping his nose right into Moomin’s. He laughs, eyes still closed and takes Moomin’s snout in his hand to press his nose again for a kiss on purpose. ‘Good morning.’  
  
‘You won’t be saying that in a minute,’ Moomin says and Snufkin blinks up at him, still quite sleepy it seems. ‘It snowed last night.’  
  
‘That will happen in Winter.’  
  
‘No, Snufkin. It _snowed.’_  
  
Snufkin frowns, turning over again to look out across the living room. Once he does, he gets up suddenly and the blanket falls to the ground.

Snufkin runs to the window, shirt untucked and barefoot and again, Moomin is struck with how skinny he’s gotten. His ankles look like twigs, Moomin thinks with a frown.  
  
‘Oh dear,’ Snufkin says, tapping the glass. ‘This will be a pickle to dig out of.’  
  
‘Dig out- are you mental?’ Moomin says and Snufkin looks at him, caught off-guard. ‘You can’t go back out in that!’  
  
‘But–'  
  
‘No buts!’ Moomin says, getting up and replacing the blanket on the couch. ‘Believe me when I tell you, you don’t want to be out in that valley with the snow like this.’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t argue anymore, but he stares at the blank window for a very long time before asking; ‘Can I at least go to your room to see how high the snow has gotten?’  
  
Moomin lets him off, getting started on breakfast. There’s dried porridge and Moomin thinks with some of the jams in the cupboard, he could rustle up some level of a pancake.

It’s plated and all, beginning to cool before Moomin realises that Snufkin still hasn’t come downstairs. He puts the pancakes in the oven to stay warm and heads upstairs.  
  
Moomin shivers when he walks into the room as Snufkin has the window wide open.

Snufkin is standing with his back to him, half-leaning out the window like he’s about to tip right over the edge of it. From here, it looks like there’s nothing outside at all as the sky and snow are so white; they blend the horizon away altogether.  
  
Moomin feels like he’s been here before, but of course, that’s impossible.  
  
‘Snufkin?’ Moomin asks and Snufkin waves him over, still facing out the window.  
  
‘Come see, Moomintroll!’   
  
Moomin does and they both stand by the window, staring out at the blankness of it all. Snufkin’s face is a puzzle, one Moomin should be familiar with by now and yet still isn’t. He tries to read what Snufkin might be thinking, tries to guess what he might say but Snufkin is already talking before he gets the chance.  
  
‘I’ve never seen the valley like this,’ Snufkin says, quietly awed. ‘It’s beautiful.’  
  
‘Looks like I finally found something you haven’t seen before,’ Moomin says and Snufkin grins at him, and it’s like the cold melts away for a moment.  
  
‘Clever troll,’ he tells him. ‘I’m glad you have.’  
  
‘Are you?’ Moomin asks, anxious.  
  
‘Yes,’ Snufkin says, before he bolts from the door and heads straight for the corridor. ‘Come on! I’m getting my boots and we’re heading out!’  
  
‘Out?’ Moomin repeats, looking out at the white nothing and feeling a kick of apprehension. ‘You mean out in that?’  
  
It turns out that is exactly what Snufkin means. He returns with his smock on, hat and boots as well. He hops out the window, sliding down the snow that’s piled so very high up and Moomin follows after, tying his scarf as he goes.  
  
They don’t spend as long out in the snow as Snufkin would evidently like to. He keeps wandering off, finding some new thing that has been changed and Moomin follows after him, fur getting all the more sodden as he’s a good bit heavier and sinks deeper into the snow, as opposed to Snufkin who walks nearly along the top of it.  
  
Eventually, Moomin takes Snufkin hand to stop him where he’s heading off again.  
  
‘I think we better head back, Snufkin.’   
  
‘Oh, not yet!’ Snufkin pleads, squeezing Moomin’s paw insistently. His fingers are so cold Moomin can feel it even through his damp fur. ‘Come now, Moomintroll, what if there’s an adventure waiting just around the corner?’  
  
‘Not much good for adventuring if you freeze to death,’ Moomin points out, starting to head back and taking Snufkin with him. ‘Your fingers are nearly blue.’  
  
‘Only nearly, so we have time.’  
  
‘The point is to get home before they turn blue, not after,’ Moomin says and he tugs a little when Snufkin stops again, to inspect some other frost-bitten thing no doubt. ‘Besides, it’s getting dark. The days aren’t long this time of year and we definitely don’t want to be out in the dark.’  
  
‘Why?’ Snufkin asks, clearly interested. ‘What comes out in the dark?’  
  
‘If we’re unlucky, the Lady of the Cold. If we’re _really_ unlucky, then something else entirely.’  
  
This is only seems to interest Snufkin all the more and he asks Moomin questions about it all, about how he could know so much about it.

Moomin doesn’t want to talk about last Winter. He’s not entirely sure why, but the shock and loneliness he’d felt last year on waking alone seem like things he ought to keep to himself.  
  
‘Too-Ticky’s got her fair share of stories,’ he says instead and Snufkin hums in agreement.  
  
As they get closer to Moominhouse, their footprints from earlier already vanished from the snow that’s still falling, Snufkin has slowed down considerably and his questions tapering off. Moomin stops before they climb back up to the bedroom window, studying Snufkin’s face. He’s all chill-bitten red from the wind.  
  
‘Snufkin?’   
  
‘Must we go back so soon?’ Snufkin sounds slightly strained. ‘There’s so much we could be doing instead, you know.’  
  
‘Snufkin, even I’m beginning to feel the cold and my pelt’s a shade warmer than your old smock. Layered or not,’ Moomin points out, tugging on Snufkin’s scarf that is starting to gather frost of its own. ‘You can’t seriously think you can stay out here and not do some sort of damage to yourself.’  
  
‘It just seems a terrible shame, is all.’  
  
‘The snow will still be there tomorrow,’ Moomin says, trying to placate the distant look in Snufkin’s eye. ‘We can play a game inside, if you like. The chess set could do with a dusting.’  
  
‘I suppose,’ Snufkin says, but he doesn’t sound too keen. He follows Moomin back into the house regardless.  
  
Moomin stokes a fire in the oven, Snufkin stringing his clothes out on a makeshift line that hangs from one end of the kitchen to the other. He stands in a sleepshirt Moomin has ferreted out from the hot press, sniffling though he’s trying to hide it. Moomin fishes out some canned beans and considers slapping together some scones to go with them.  
  
‘I think I might play us a song,’ Snufkin says, sitting at the table and reaching for his pack left underneath it.  
  
‘That sounds great-oh, wait!’ Moomin says, turning around from the press to stop Snufkin where he sits, about to put the harmonica to his lips. ‘You can’t, you’ll wake everyone up!’  
  
Snufkin frowns, looking down at his harmonica. ‘Oh. I suppose I would.’  
  
‘Maybe tomorrow, when we’re out walking?’ Moomin suggests, feeling the disappointment radiate off Snufkin like smoke from a fire.  
  
‘Then I might wake some other poor creature,’ Snufkin says quietly, putting the harmonica on the table. ‘Winter has it’s own music, in the trees and icicles. No place for a song I might play, really.’  
  
Moomin isn’t sure what to say to that. Snufkin’s songs aren’t like any others Moomin knows and Moomin wants to make it better, wants to say Snufkin can play as much as he likes out in the wilds and bugger to anyone who might say otherwise. But Moomin also knows that no one can sleep through a tune played by Snufkin and if someone wakes up early, it might all get very confusing.  
  
‘Perhaps you can start thinking about your Spring tune instead and what it might be?’  
  
‘But it’s Winter,’ Snufkin says and Moomin doesn’t know what difference that makes, but Snufkin says it so firmly he figures it must be an important distinction.  
  
Dinner after that is very quiet and Moomin isn’t sure how to fix it. He tries to talk to Snufkin about their day, but Snufkin hasn’t a lot or indeed anything else to say it seems. He pushes his food around, apparently not much hungry either. It’s been a while since this has happened, since Snufkin has retreated like this and Moomin is trying not feel so very sad about it.  
  
‘I really am sorry about your mouth organ, Snufkin,’ Moomin says when they’re finished and in the living room, each with a mug of coffee. Not that Snufkin is drinking his.  
  
Snufkin blinks at him, as though suddenly remembering where he is. ‘Don’t be daft, Moomintroll. It’s not the worst thing.’  
  
Moomin doubts that very much going by the slump in Snufkin’s shoulders.  
  
‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ Moomin asks as he’s desperate for there to be. Like a switch Moomin might be able to turn just for Snufkin to smile like he had this morning.  
  
‘Not a blessed thing. I’ve got coffee,’ Snufkin says gently, touching Moomin’s paw. His fingers have finally warmed up. ‘And I’ve got good company. I don’t want for a thing.’  
  
‘Not even your pipe?’ Moomin suggests and Snufkin raises his eyebrows.  
  
‘You hate my pipe.’  
  
‘Yes, but I love you so I’d say I’ll be alright if you fancy it,’ Moomin says, taking a sip of his coffee and immediately sucking it down the wrong way as he realises what’s said. He daren’t look at Snufkin; he couldn’t bear what he might see. ‘I’ll go- uh, fetch it for you.’  
  
Moomin puts his coffee down and flees back to the kitchen for Snufkin’s pack. He takes Snufkin’s pipe and tobacco pouch from the pocket on the side, heart rabbiting in his chest.  
  
He can’t believe he just said that. Not that he hasn’t thought it, but _saying_ it is rather different and oh, Moomin can’t believe it. He takes a few seconds, kneeling on the kitchen floor and mentally kicking himself. Moomin suddenly realises exactly what Snufkin had meant before. Some things should be thought, not said.  
  
It takes a little longer to get himself together somewhat before heading back to the living room. Snufkin is exactly where Moomin left him, coffee still in hand but he looks up when Moomin walks in.

‘I thought you’d gotten lost, you were gone so long.’  
  
‘Checked the wrong pocket,’ Moomin lies, handing the pipe and pouch over to Snufkin as he sits back down on the couch. ‘Your pack really has so many.’  
  
‘If you say so,’ Snufkin says, putting his coffee down and starting to stuff tobacco into the pipe’s chamber. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’  
  
‘I can survive it for an evening,’ Moomin says, yawning suddenly. He hadn’t realised he was so tired, but it hits him now like a wave. Snufkin pats his knee.

‘Why don’t you head upstairs to bed?’  
  
‘Without you?’  
  
‘I’ll be up later, after my pipe,’ Snufkin says, gesturing with said pipe. ‘Go sleep, Moomintroll.’  
  
Moomin doesn’t really fancy leaving Snufkin alone, but he’s bone tired from slogging through the snow all day and it all feels quite heavy now. No wonder he’s blurting out things he oughtn’t, he’s half-asleep on his feet as it is! Who knew even one day of Winter would be so tiring?  
  
‘Alright, so. I’ll see you later,’ Moomin says, pressing his nose to Snufkin’s temple before getting up to head for the stairs. ‘Don’t drop ash on the couch, if you can help it. Mama won’t be pleased.’  
  
Snufkin waits until Moomin is at the stairs before he calls after him. ‘Moomintroll?’  
  
‘Snufkin?’  
  
‘That thing you said. Before,’ Snufkin says and he’s popping his lips off his pipe, eyes watching the orange flicker of the fire in the stove and Moomin freezes, one foot on the step. ‘Thank you for saying it.’  
  
‘Oh,’ Moomin says, mortified. ‘You didn’t mind my saying it out loud?’  
  
‘Not at all. I rather liked it, actually.’  
  
‘Well then, you’re welcome.’  
  
Moomin practically runs back up the stores to hide the embarrassment that’s flooding through him at a fierce pace. He’s in bed, covers up and all before he realises with the kind of sinking, low feeling one gets from falling without expecting it that Snufkin hadn’t said it back. Not that he has to, mind.  
  
But still… it might’ve been nice, Moomin thinks and when he falls asleep quickly after, he dreams of birds flying so far up they look like leaves.

*/  
  
  
  
Snufkin waits until Moomintroll is surely asleep before fetching them from his pack.   
  
He sits before the dying fire, the blanket from the Moomins' couch thrown over his shoulder as he lays them out. The Moon, Nine of Swords and the Lovers.   
  
'It won't come to that,' Snufkin tells the card like they may listen, which he knows they won't after many years of not doing so. He shuffles them again, more desperate. 'What if I do nothing?'  
  
He shuffles longer than he might, hands shaking. There's a nag in his heart distracting him, a horrible lurch of falling when not expecting it and it's been getting worse and worse. Outside, Snufkin can hear the wind whistling. The same wind that's been threatening him all these months and still, he stays. It's only a wind, after all- it doesn't care for a Mumrik like himself or what he may do. But his nature aches like a bruise.  
  
There's sickness lurking, Snufkin knows.  
  
Snufkin only draws one card from the top and turns it to him. The Tower.   
  
Snufkin sucks a breath in, quietly shocked. The anxious knot in his chest winds tighter, a vice that threatens to snap the delicate disposition. Snufkin replaces the Tower in the deck and takes his time shuffling again, thinking about his question carefully.   
  
'And if I do what's needed?' Snufkin asks, this time drawing from the bottom for no other purpose than a notion to do so. Three of Swords. Snufkin sinks forward, shoulders sagging and the blanket shrouds over him even further. 'Oh.'  
  
Snufkin touches the card gently, the corners scuffed from years of use and a small waterstain in the top corner. How well, Snufkin knows this deck. How clear it has always been and the one time Snufkin feels he can't quite face it, it still takes no pity upon him.  
  
'Oh, Moomintroll,' Snufkin says, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. It feels strange, to see wooden planks like bars where he's used to seeing stars.   
  
Snufkin puts the deck away and sits with his pipe instead. He sits until the fire goes out, until the whole room around him turns black though it matters little with his night-eyes. Snufkin isn't sure what he's waiting for, or rather what he's putting off, but soon he can't fight either any longer and heads upstairs.   
  
Moomintroll has left the bedroom door open for him. Snufkin steps in, quiet in his bare feet and shuts it behind him. What's one more closed door in a house full of them, after all?  
  
He walks up to the bed and looks where Moomintroll has curled up himself up against the far wall, leaving as much space possible behind in the bed. Snufkin puts a hand to his own chest, his heart the fluttering of something bright, free and lovely. It hurts in it's own way, to love so deeply, Snufkin suddenly feels.  
  
_How frightening it must be for him,_ he thinks as he sits on the edge of the bed, listening to Moomintroll's soft snores. Moomintroll has likely never felt something like this before now. He spilled the beans on it so quickly it's clear it must be too much for Moomintroll to hold yet. Snufkin isn't like that himself. Snufkin has been in love so much longer and is much stronger from its weight, careful not to spill anything at all.   
  
'You shouldn't have said it,' Snufkin whispers to the sleeping troll, hand outstretched across the bed linen to where one of Moomintroll's paws curl. 'How shall I ever survive hearing it never again now I've heard it once? You've make a glutton of me, Moomintroll.'

Moomintroll, asleep as he is, doesn't answer. Snufkin smiles down at him all the same, pulling the blanket open and crawling into the warm space of the bed Moomintroll has left for him. 

There's so much more to say but Snufkin is quiet. He burrows under Moomintroll's snout, curling his hands into the soft fur of Moomintroll's chest. Feels his heart beating beneath and wonders if he waits long enough, whether his own might beat in tandem, too. Perhaps, if he is patient, they'll come together in the end.  
  
  
*/

  
  
The days pass more quickly than Moomin thinks possible. It’s probably not helped by how very tired he is, the days so short to begin with and cut even more so by how early Moomin heads to bed and how late he rolls out of it in the dark Winter mornings.  
  
If it weren’t for the scent of tobacco on his pillow, Moomin would think Snufkin never came to bed with him at all as Snufkin stays up later himself and is always gone by the time Moomin wakes up. Instead, Snufkin is partial to naps during the day as always but this Winter, he seems to be napping more often.  
  
Moomin thinks Snufkin is going to run out of tobacco very soon, he’s smoking so much. More than he ever does in the Spring or Summer, Moomin thinks. He loathes the smell and if he were to be honest, he thinks it does more harm than good for Snufkin’s jitteriness, but Moomin is hardly going to tell him off when it was his idea in the first place.  
  
The whole matter of Moomin saying… _that other thing_ from before has not come up again and Moomin is being very careful for it not to do so.  
  
They can’t do much other than read and play some games. The snow has gone from powdery to ice-slick with a blizzard that’s been beating down the windows for a long while now.

Snufkin retreats to the attic sometimes with a book, or a piece of pinched firewood to whittle and Moomin has been writing, his itinerary returned to purpose as a diary of sorts.  
  
They’re out of sync, meeting almost by accident sometimes in the kitchen, Moomin with some coffee and Snufkin with his pipe. The days are strange and short, the two of them swinging close together on occasion but never making it all the way.  
  
But that's why Moomin loves the evenings best, when Snufkin returns from whatever part of the house he’d retreated from and crawls into his arms, regardless of what Moomin might be doing. It’s resulted in a lot of spilled tea and ink blots, but more than worth it for the urgent way Snufkin gets his hands in Moomin’s fur and pulls.  
  
There’ll be kissing then and of that, Moomin can never complain. He’d felt a little drunk with it to begin with, especially as it’s one of very few things they can do to stuck as they are and it’d been like a treat. In a way only being with Snufkin ever does.  
  
Lately however, Moomin is beginning to feel a little different. There’s something cold in Snufkin’s eye. Not mean, not cruel or indeed anything of the like. It’s the cold of a quiet, empty place far away and Moomin watches Snufkin try to reach out from it, but never quite reaching.

Now, when Moomin kisses him, it feels rather like pulling him back from somewhere dark.  
  
It's just over a month into the Winter that they have a rare afternoon together. Moomin looks over from his diary. Snufkin is sitting on the window ledge in Moomin’s bedroom, staring at the snow flurry outside that seems to never end.  
  
He’s not been eating properly- unfinished food and nervously chewing on the bit of his pipe instead and it’s beginning to show even more now. Snufkin’s muslin hangs off him like the furniture downstairs. He’s been shrouded for the cold months, waiting for someone to uncover him and Moomin feels like there’s a veil down alright but he’s not quite sure how to fix it.  
  
‘Snufkin,’ Moomin asks from his desk and Snufkin looks at him, the white light of the window casting his face into a stark shadow. How dark his eyes look, like coal dust. ‘Are you alright?’  
  
‘Of course,’ Snufkin says with a smile Moomin hasn’t quite seen before. ‘Just watching the weather. I think the blizzard will be over soon and then perhaps we might be able to go out.’  
  
‘Perhaps,’ Moomin replies hesitantly, tapping his pen against the edge of the desk nervously. ‘What would you like to do if it does let up?’  
  
‘Walk,’ Snufkin says, a touch strained. ‘Walk for as long as we can before we must turn back.’  
  
‘Then we’ll walk,’ Moomin tells him and Snufkin’s smile shifts, something a little more familiar and the unease thaws a bit.

Snufkin slips from the window-sill and walks over. Moomin tries not focus on how gaunt he appears in the horrible half-dark of the Winter light.  
  
Snufkin takes his snout in his hands which are cool to touch. Snufkin is always cold now, it seems. ‘Daft troll.’  
  
‘What have I done now?’ Moomin asks, not thinking he’d said anything particularly silly.  
  
‘Something lovely, I assure you,’ Snufkin answers which is no answer at all. ‘I just wonder sometimes how a creature like you can exist.’  
  
‘Are you teasing me?’  
  
‘Only a little.’  
  
‘Cruel,’ Moomin says, but he’s grinning because he’s just so happy to see a bit of the usual Snufkin come through. Moomin raises his head, hoping to tempt Snufkin down for a kiss. ‘But I forgive you, because if I’m daft over anything then I am over you.’  
  
‘Oh dear,’ Snufkin says, rewarding Moomin’s cleverness with a small press of his nose to his. ‘A poor choice, my friend.’  
  
‘I don’t know why you’d think that,’ Moomin says, the game cooling off suddenly and he reaches up and takes Snufkin hands into his own paws. ‘Because I don’t, you know. I never do.’  
  
‘Hush now,’ Snufkin tells him, pulling away and taking a book from the table with him. ‘You’ll spoil it.’  
  
‘Spoil what?’ Moomin asks, but Snufkin is already out of the room, vanishing off to- well, whatever bright corner he can find to be alone, no doubt.  
  
Is it possible to miss someone when they’re in the same house as you? Moomin is beginning to think it’s all he’s doing the last while as the Winter thickens around the two of them. The more he looks at Snufkin the less of him Moomin seems to see. Like he’s vanishing, bit by bit…  
  
Moomin drops his pen, the horrible thought gripping him like a vice.  
  
Moomin sits for a long while, deciding and un-deciding like a see-saw. Eventually he shuts the diary, not having written anything since Snufkin has left anyway and heads out around the house. He’s careful past his parents room, more careful again passing Little My’s and heads downstairs.  
  
Moomin stops half-way down the stairs, seeing Snufkin on the couch through the railings of the bannister. He’s curled up small, really so very small and Moomin realises he’s fallen asleep for another nap, book abandoned on the floor next to him.  
  
Moomin comes over and pulls the throw down from the back of the couch, arranging it around Snufkn best he can.  
  
Truth be told, Snufkin looks ill more than anything else. But Moomin looks him over anyway, touches his hair as if checking for the ends to be half-invisible.

But Snufkin is here, clear as anything so why does Moomin feel like he still can’t quite see him? Perhaps some invisibility starts from the inside out, Moomin thinks, looking at the dark circles under Snufkin’s eyes.  
  
‘I wish I could see what’s wrong,’ Moomin whispers, knowing Snufkin can’t hear him this deeply asleep. ‘I wish you would tell me.’  
  
Snufkin doesn’t answer, just breathes soft and slow with sleep and Moomin presses a kiss to his forehead. Smells stale tobacco and Moominhouse. Cotton, wood varnish and Moomin’s own shampoo. Snufkin doesn’t smell like himself anymore and Moomin’s heart goes hollow realising this.  
  
‘Oh, Snufkin,’ Moomin says, leaden inside with a feeling of shame. ‘You’re right. I am the daftest creature in the valley.’  
  
Moomin makes the decision quickly before he can think too much about it. And once it’s made, all Moomin can think then is why it took him so long to begin with.

  
  
*/

  
  
Snufkin wakes to the horribly familiar view of a wooden ceiling in the dark. In his worst nightmares, that ceiling starts sinking like a great wave Snufkin can’t escape from, crushing down on top of him. The more often Snufkin wakes to the sight of it, the more he fears the nightmare is coming true.  
  
He turns over on the couch to face another wall. Wall after wall, in this house. A beautiful box with no way out.  
  
Slowly, Snufkin becomes aware of the quiet. The wood isn’t groaning, the windows not straining and Snufkin realises that the storm has finally passed.  
  
Snufkin sits up suddenly, heart quick to a beat in his chest. If there were ever a moment, this is it and Snufkin feels that pull inside like a wound. The one lingering since before Autumn even, one he’s been ignoring but now it trembles inside of him like wind chimes.  
  
Snufkin looks around the room, at the dark and the furniture still covered and the walls. The walls. He breathes slow, quiet and steady. For the first time in a long while, Snufkin finally feels right in himself and the truth of that suddenly is a nettle sting.  
  
_I can’t,_ Snufkin realises with a frustration that crumbles him for a moment. He winces in on himself, hands fisted in the blanket that covers him. He simply can’t any longer.  
  
How terrible it can be, to know oneself so well. And terrible more still for those around not to.  
  
Snufkin slips from the couch, looking around and straining his ears. But there’s no sound from anywhere and the room is nearly completely black from the Winter, the only light coming from the dying embers of the fire. Moomintroll must be in bed still, Snufkin thinks.  
  
Snufkin goes to the kitchen and starts to pack. He steals from the pantry- not so much that Moomintroll will be without, but at least to get Snufkin through until he’s past the mountain path. He works fast, barely thinking but ears pricked for the wind outside. For Moomintroll upstairs.  
  
In the press under the stairs are his smock, neatly folded and his hat on top of it.  
  
Snufkin doesn’t notice he’s shaking until he reaches for his hat. He replaces it on his head, unsteady and stops like a clock. Underneath, resting on top of his smock are a pair of gloves he’s never seen before and his harmonica. Snufkin takes the gloves up first. They fit perfectly.  
  
_He knew,_ Snufkin thinks and everything goes cold. He’d never believed in Snufkin at all.  
  
Snufkin moves quickly then, blinking around the hurt. He puts his harmonica away, pulling on his smock and scarf. He runs up the stairs, pack on his back and booted for the snow. When he walks into Moomintroll’s bedroom, he stops at the door and simply stares.  
  
Moomintroll is asleep, buried significantly under a great pile of blankets as the window is open. The snow has been cleared from the ledge and Snufkin can see the ladder has been rolled down.

Snufkin walks over, taking care to be quiet and when he looks through the window, he sees the ladder run down the snow more like a slide than anything.  
  
But that doesn’t matter, Snufkin knows. It’s not about the ladder in itself. It’s about the choice. The choice that should Snufkin leave, he has a way to get back in if he changes his mind. It’s somehow worse this way than if Moomintroll had done nothing at all. Because Snufkin will not change his mind and how does a heart recover from not being chosen?  
  
Snufkin stands with his hands on the ledge, feeling the chill of the wind on his cheeks. The blizzard has indeed finally passed over. The world is entirely silent and clear, but bitter cold and Snufkin looks at where the trees are black and weighed down below. If there is ever to be a time to go, it’s now.  
  
But Snufkin lingers still. He looks at Moomintroll again, the way his ears poke out just over the top of his blankets and how his snout is buried beneath. Like the trees, like the valley, Moomintroll is something to be uncovered in the warmer months.  
  
Snufkin reaches out but stops himself short of touching, hand hovering over the top of Moomintroll’s head before Snufkin swallows around the sting in his throat. He pulls his hand back, holding his breath.  
  
Perhaps this is a test. Moomintroll isn’t the type for tricks but neither is he the kind to push something away just to see if it may come back. Snufkin isn’t some dragon in a jar but if he were, Moomintroll has left it open and now Snufkin wonders if there is a right or wrong choice here. The more he stays, feeling of the wind wrapping around him, the more Snufkin realises there really isn’t any choice at all.  
  
Moomintroll won’t forgive him, Snufkin realises with a heavy heart. Snufkin looks out into the white wilderness, he suddenly realises that this was always to be. They could not have ended up anywhere else.  
  
‘You must understand,’ Snufkin says quietly, desperate but not willing to wake Moomintroll anyway. ‘I truly did try, you must believe me.’  
  
Moomintroll says nothing, only sleeps and Snufkin’s heart is an hour glass, constricted in the middle from where the love pours through.  
  
‘It would always have come to this,’ Snufkin tells him as it’s true.  
  
He wishes Moomintroll would understand, but knows he never could. Snufkin lets himself look for only a moment longer, savouring and holding onto something he should never have taken before he climbs out the window, pulling it closed behind him as he goes.  
  
He doesn’t leave note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's playlist addition is _missing_ by the xx


	15. Chapter 15

When Moomin wakes, it’s Spring.  
  
It’s a strange thing; waking from Hibernation. It’s not like a normal sleep, nor indeed all that different. Moomin opens his eyes with the same funny sensation Hibernation always gives; as though he had only just put his head on the pillow. It’s rather less like waking up than it is so much as coming back. And coming back alone, at that.  
  
Moomin sits up in the bed and looks at the window immediately. It’s shut.  
  
‘Snufkin,’ he says, first and last word as always. He jumps from the bed and runs to the window, sees the ladder still down but hanging limp against the house where the snow has long melted.  
  
Moomin lingers, not entirely sure what he’s looking for. The snow is gone, the campsite empty. It’s only the very first day, after all. He is not always on time.  
  
But still, Moomin looks. He looks like he might peek around the corner of the world and find what he’s looking for, staring back at him. But no one is looking for Moomin.  
  
He checks the desk. Then the drawer. He’s the first awake and when he leaves the bedroom, the house is just beginning to creak as Spring warmth thaws where frost had burrowed in the joints. He checks downstairs before heading outside, straight to the postbox.  
  
Which is also empty.  
  
Moomin leans against the postbox, despondent. Since waking up, he’s said to himself over and over _Don’t be disappointed._  
_  
_ He tries again, tipping his head back and staring up at the white, fluffy clouds. Don’t be disappointed, don’t be disappointed, don’t be-

It doesn’t help. The disappoint stings like the wrong end of a wasp somewhere very tender inside. 

Moomin tries not to, but he finds himself thinking all sorts of terrible things anyway over what might’ve happened. Perhaps Snufkin is ill; how else might he forget something as important as his annual letter, after all? Perhaps the letter has been stolen. Or hidden? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…  
  
Perhaps none had been left at all to find. Moomin feels something frightful inside as he thinks it, like that first blinding flare of the match when struck. It sears, too much to look at it, and then it’s over. And Moomin just knows it to be true.  
  
‘Oh,’ he says, the breath rushing out of him like he’s run a distance. He sinks back against the postbox, slides down it until he flops to the ground.  
  
He pictures Snufkin as he had been in the Winter; bone-thin, pale and always with his eyes out on a horizon Moomin couldn’t see. Was that Snufkin so very different to Moomin’s Snufkin? Moomin hadn’t thought so at the time. Now he’s not very sure at all.  
  
Snufkin was always going to leave, Moomin suddenly realises. It had been cruel to keep him- it _is_ cruel, Moomin thinks and leaving that window open had just been Moomin uselessly trying to get ahead of something that was always going to outrun him.  
  
Moomin bends his knees and buries his snout between them as he curls in small, groaning aloud to himself as the shame hits. What a rotten, silly thing to have done! Moomin wouldn’t have left a note either.

  
It’s a long time spent sitting in the dirt like that and feeling miserable. The sun turns quite yellow and Moomin can hear the valley wake up around him. Bees buzzing, the stream and birds. The rest of the world isn’t going to wait around for Moomin, Snufkin or indeed anything.  
  
A shadow crosses over him and Moomin looks up and feels his stomach drop when he sees Papa looking down at him.  
  
Moomin can’t even bring himself to say anything. He’s too dejected and he looks away, at least having it in him to not have to look Papa in the snout when Papa says it. _I told you so, Moomintroll,_ Moomin expects. _Didn’t I tell you so?_  
  
But Papa doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he sits himself down in the dirt with Moomin and Moomin frowns, instantly suspicious. Papa has never been so silent.  
  
It’s short-lived.  
  
‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ Papa says, swinging his snout back to look out across the valley. ‘There’s life in the old girl yet, eh son?’  
  
Papa elbows him lightly but Moomin just frowns, even more baffled.  
  
‘Spring seems to be having a proper go of it from the first day. Look, we’ve got daisies already!’ Papa says brightly, pointing at where a cluster of them are blooming by the end of the bridge. He leans closer, bumping Moomin’s shoulder. ‘But it’s just that, you know.’  
  
Moomin meets his eye, the horrible knot inside loosening slightly.  
  
‘The first day,’ Papa continues gently and he puts an arm around his shoulder. ‘There are plenty of things in this valley that haven’t bloomed yet, my boy.’  
  
‘Yeah,’ Moomin says, sinking against his father and letting himself be tugged closer. ‘It’s only the first day.’  
  
‘Exactly, my boy,’ Papa says and he rubs Moomin’s arm where he’s held. ‘So let’s not count the poppies quite so soon.’  
  
Sitting here, in the Spring morning with his father, Moomin has never felt more grown up or more pitifully foolish all at once in his life. It doesn’t cure but it does help, to feel as though they may understand each other at last.  
  
Snufkin will come; he always does, Moomin reminds himself. And when he does, Moomin will apologise. And Snufkin will give that Look. That Look that says _Daft troll_ , because by now Snufkin will know Moomin isn’t angry. By now, Snufkin will have already forgotten the whole thing no doubt.  
  
By now, Snufkin is probably half-way back already.  
  
With that in mind, Moomin stares out and down the wood path. At where it vanishes between budding bushes and low tree branches.  
  
Snufkin will come back. And when he does, all will be well.

  
  
*/  
  
  
  
Moomin goes to the bridge every day. And every day, Snufkin doesn’t come.

Moomin is almost used to it now- the uneasy guilt that churns inside of him. It seems a beast unto itself, in its own way. It’s hungry and eats his appetite, it’s tired and steals his sleep. Moomin wakes so early it’ll still be dark but he just can’t seem to get himself to nod off, instead staying up to watch the stars through his open window. He leaves it open. Just in case.

Truly, it’s quite a horrible thing to be alone like this but Moomin thinks he might bear it all a little better if not for Little My.

Upon waking to find Snufkin gone, Little My has turned bitter like mugwort. Her face whenever finding Moomin always turns solemn, if she even stays to look that long as she’s taken to leaving a room whenever Moomin enters it.

This morning proves no different as when Moomin walks in, Little My hops immediately from the table where she’d been sitting and bolts out the backdoor. She slams it shut behind her and the cabinets shake.

Mama tuts, frowning out the window at Little My no doubt. ‘I do wish she wouldn’t be so feckless.’

‘Leave her off,’ Moonin says miserably, sitting at the table and putting his snout in a paw.

‘My poor plates have been through plenty with your father as it is, never mind shaking shelves.’

‘She’s angry,’ Moomin replies, feeling that same unpleasant unhappiness churn inside. ‘She thinks it’s my fault.’  
  
‘There’s nothing to blame you for, Moomintroll. Nature is as nature does, you know.’  
  
‘What it wants to, I suppose,’ Moomin says, drawing circles with a finger on the table. Clockwise, then counter clockwise like going backwards. Doesn’t solve anything.

Mama looks at him over her shoulder and she looks so sympathetic. Moomin can’t help but think it might just be pity after all and he stares down at the stray crumbs left behind on the table. After a few moments, a mug of coffee is put down in front of him.

‘Chin up, dear,’ she says kindly before going back to shelling peas at the counter. Moomin sits with her, listening to her humming a song that sounds familiar until it hits him like a bucket of cold water.

‘That’s Snufkin’s song,’ he says and Mama stops, ears twitching behind her. ‘His tune from last season.’

‘It was such a lovely one,’ Mama says gently, turning around with the bowl full of bright, green peas. She puts it on the table, paws on her hips and a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘Perhaps he’ll play it again when he comes back.’

‘Snufkin doesn’t play the same tune twice.’  
  
‘He does when asked,’ Mama replies and they look at each other, the weight of that felt by both. ‘But only when asked, of course.’  
  
‘Maybe when he gets back,’ Moomin says, as he’s been saying every day. When Snufkin comes back. If Snufkin comes back.  
  
If, when. If, when. If, when…  
  
‘All in good time, I’m sure,’ Mama says, moving back to the counter to start chopping carrots. ‘Back before the bluebells bloom.’  
  
Mama’s going to run out flowers, Moomin thinks sadly. Every day she picks a different one and decides it’ll be the one Snufkin beats to the valley. Every day, the flowers blossom anyway and Moomin thinks there may just be an omen in that.  
  
He hasn’t sailed any bark boats, or even tossed a stray leaf into the stream though as thinking is one thing and knowing is another, and Moomin’s sure his heart can’t quite take knowing. Not yet.  
  
‘Do you think-’ Moomin stops, then starts again. ‘Do you think something undone is the same as something not started?’  
  
Mama pauses in her chopping, birds chirping outside from the window and her ear twitches again. ‘I don’t think something can ever go back to being unstarted. The only way is forward for most things, after all.’  
  
‘That’s what I thought,’ Moomin says miserably, pushing away his coffee as his taste for it has palled in the last few weeks this season.

If the only way is forward, then whatever was it that brought Snufkin back in the first place?  
  
  
  
*/

  
  
Snorkmaiden visits in March, just when the mushrooms erupt from the verdant soil and pockmark the valley.  
  
Moomin isn’t sure how it has been so very long and yet feel like he has not done much at all. Indeed though, he truly hasn’t done anything but think of excuses to cross the bridge every morning and evening.

Today is no exception and he tries to not let the disappointment show on his face when someone finally comes down the wood path that morning.  
  
‘Snufkin!’ Moomin says, jumping to his feet from where he’s been sitting on the bridge and in his haste, nearly topples over entirely.  
  
‘Oh dear,’ Snorkmaiden says to him when she gets close, lavender and soft with a bachelor’s button tucked behind an ear. ‘A whole season later and I’m still disappointing you.’  
  
‘No, no! Don’t be silly, I didn’t mean-’ Moomin stutters rather pathetically and Snorkmaiden gives him a look of terrible fondness. He shrinks under it. ‘You could never.’  
  
‘Liar,’ Snorkmaiden says, but she’s smiling. She comes close and brushes her snout to Moomin’s cheek and he leans rather well into it. It’s not too shabby, after all, to be kissed. ‘So, where’d Snufkin wander off to if you’re stuck here waiting? Ditched you for some minnows, has he?’  
  
Her joke falls completely flat and she realises too late. It must show on Moomin’s face, though he’s really quite trying for it not to.  
  
‘Oh,’ she says slowly, the truth of it dawning to her. Because Snufkin has not come and gone. He hasn’t wandered to the creek, or pushed a hand back to keep Moomin from following. No, no. ‘Oh, my sweet, sweet Moomintroll.’  
  
‘Don’t,’ Moomin says but she does. She rushes forward, crushing him to her in a tight hug and Moomin wheezes with surprise.  
  
‘I’m sure he just got held up somewhere,’ Snorkmaiden says and Moomin struggles in her arms, unsure what to do with himself. Mama and Papa have been careful not to make it sound like excuses, though that’s all they can be. And Little My hasn’t been talking at all.  
  
Moomin isn’t sure hearing an excuse is better.  
  
‘It’s fine,’ he says, waving her off and Snorkmaiden comes to an unsteady stop, words hovering as she clearly debates having more to say. ‘Really, Snorkmaiden. I’m fine.’  
  
‘Yes,’ she says and Moomin looks away because he suddenly can’t bear the knowing look she give him. ‘I imagine you are. You were always so very good at being so. But you don’t have to be. Not with me, anyway.’  
  
When Moomin glances back to her, he feels such a sudden and genuine rush of affection for her that he surprises both of them when he swings back into another hug. She recovers quickly, holding back tightly and Moomin realises how long it’s been since he’s hugged… anyone.  
  
‘Do you want to talk about it?’  
  
‘I don’t even know where to start.’  
  
‘Try the beginning?’  
  
‘There isn’t much of a beginning,’ Moomin says into her shoulder, staring out into the wood and the green of it. ‘I think it was ending for a long time and I just didn’t see it.’  
  
‘Now, now,’ Snorkmaiden says gently, letting Moomin hold on as long as he likes it seems. ‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.’  
  
‘It’s not good either,’ Moomin says miserably, but Snorkmaiden laughs softly. Moomin thinks he might’ve been offended had this happened a season ago- as it is, Moomin laughs, too because goodness knows he hasn’t found much funny in the last while.  
  
‘No, I bet it’s pretty rubbish,’ Snorkmaiden replies, rubbing Moomin’s back. ‘But I’ve got just the thing for that.’  
  
The thing, as it turns out, is making daisy chains out in the meadow as they talk.

Moomin is skeptical, but as he sits there and links each little flower together, the more he feels like the tight knot inside of him is beginning to ease. Snorkmaiden chats away, happy for him to just listen but after a while, Moomin looks up from his considerably more lopsided chain.  
  
‘Can I..?’  
  
‘As much or as little as you like,’ Snorkmaiden says and she doesn’t even look up from her own daisy-chain. Moomin smiles again and starts to tell her about the Winter, about Snufkin. Every word feels like one more door opening inside.  
  
That evening, they take their chains back to Moominhouse and hang them like garlands in the living room as Mama serves tea and biscuits.

‘Aren’t you cross with him?’ Snorkmaiden asks, whispering like she expects them to be interrupted. It’s almost sad how Moomin knows that they won’t be.

Little My is avoiding him too much for that.  
  
‘Sometimes,’ Moomin admits. ‘Sometimes I get so angry about the whole thing I could just kick something over the highest point of the Lonely Mountains.’  
  
‘But only sometimes?’  
  
Moomin nods silently, mulling over his next words. ‘The rest of the time I’m too busy missing him to be cross.’  
  
Snorkmaiden makes a pitiful _ohh_ noise and hugs him for the hundredth time that day. Moomin lets her, but it doesn’t really help. Across the room, Little My meets his eye briefly and that same, horrible lurching feeling returns with the way she instantly storms off. It seems even looking at him is too much for her now.  
  
Moomin had never understood before what Snufkin had meant when he’d describe a feeling of being closed in. Of feeling too pressed upon by everyone else. Moomin has always felt he is too confident for that sort of thing, too much of his own Moomin to let things like that bother.  
  
It’s all rather bothersome now, he must admit. To be fretted upon for a mess of one’s own making takes the shine out of even the loveliest of comforts.  
  
Moomin excuses himself from everyone and goes to the veranda. He sits on the step of it, stares out around the edge of the awning at the dusk sky.  
  
It’s clear and some stars are already glimmering; talking to each other no doubt and completely disinterested in all down here. Moomin supposes that’s fair; after all, they are so far away and this has all happened to them much longer ago than it’s happening now to him.  
  
It’s a long while before someone comes out to join him.  
  
Mama sits down on the step next to him, a cup of tea in paw. Moomin is about to decline but she raises it to her own lips, making him feel a little foolish for being presumptuous.  
  
‘Beautiful evening,’ Mama says idly and Moomin hums in reply. ‘Look, dear. There’s swallows.’  
  
Moomin looks and there are indeed swallows. They’re ink-black against where the sky turns to night, blinking in and out shadows as they swoop around the tops of trees. Now he’s paying attention, Moomin realises the whole air is filled with the sound of swallow song.  
  
‘Spring has officially started,’ Mama says and Moomin goes still, suddenly overcome. His eyes water and his throat stings and the great sadness inside of him bursts like an overripe berry. It’s a tart, bright thing.  
  
‘He’s not coming,’ Moomin says to himself more than anything, for someone has to say it and who if not him?  
  
Mama doesn’t answer him and Moomin thinks it’s because she must know it, too. A day is to be expected, perhaps even a week. But it has not just been a day, nor indeed a week and ultimately, it doesn’t have to be any more of either for Moomin to know it all to be true.  
  
Snufkin isn’t coming back.  
  
‘Not yet is not the same as not ever,’ Mama says, taking another sip of her tea and Moomin sinks lower, snout in his paws but it feels strangely better to not have her lie to him.  
  
‘He’s angry with me,’ Moomin continues, eyes following the path of one particular swallow. Mama taps a finger against the side of her cup thoughtfully.  
  
‘Why would you think that?’  
  
‘He didn’t say goodbye. Snufkin always says goodbye, one way or another.’  
  
‘Perhaps then it is simply another,’ Mama suggests kindly. ‘We do not always see things for what they are immediately, after all. He could’ve left you a goodbye and you simply haven’t heard it yet.’  
  
‘I’d have heard it,’ Moomin says, putting a paw to his chest and just having the dignity not to add _in here_ though it’s certainly what he means. ‘I’ve always got my ears out for him, after all.’  
  
‘But why would he be angry with you, dear?’  
  
‘I put him somewhere with no way out,’ Moomin says sadly, paw tightening on his chest. He pinches his fur. ‘It was quite a nasty thing to do, actually. Made worse still by the fact that I entirely meant to do it.’  
  
‘A house is not a cage, dear.’  
  
‘I don’t mean the house,’ Moomin says, not sure how to explain. It’s frightful, really. ‘Too-Ticky says love isn’t magic.’  
  
‘I suppose she’s right,’ Mama says but Moomin shakes his head.  
  
‘I don’t,’ he says, strained all of a sudden. ‘I think it’s a bloody awful bit of magic, all onto itself. What does it care for rules, or what people want?’  
  
‘Love very rarely follows the rules, that’s true,’ Mama says to that, putting her cup of tea down. She places a warm paw on Moomin’s knee and he looks away, not wanting her to see the way his eyes are tearing up. ‘But it does have a terrible habit of being jumbled up with what we want, alright.’  
  
‘Snufkin had it in him, too,’ Moomin says, a touch desperate. Perhaps even a lot desperate, if he’s to be honest. ‘Or that’s what I thought, anyway. But what if it was me? What if it was all me?’  
  
‘A love on it’s own feels rather different, I think,’ Mama says but Moomin can’t help but think, bitterly, that she wouldn’t know. She’s never had to love on her own.  
  
Moomin’s loved by himself for so very long and not even noticed. 

‘It was too much to ask.’

’What was?’

’He’s left because of me,’ Moomin says to her, watching swallows. ‘Left because of where I wanted to put him.’

’I doubt it’s as easy as all that, Moomintroll.’

’He’s left.’

  
‘He can love you and leave, my dear. In fact, he’s been doing so a rather long time already.’  
  
‘You’ve got it backwards,’ Moomin retorts tightly, flushing with embarrassment at being sharp with his own mother. He looks at her then, apologetic. ‘Sorry, I just mean- oh, I don’t know what I mean. It’s not about the leaving, it’s the staying. He should never have done it. I should never have let him.’  
  
Moomin blinks and a fat, wet tear rolls. He wipes at it furiously and is grateful that Mama says nothing about it.  
  
‘But all that’s just… the rest of it,’ Moomin continues miserably and he pats his chest, right over his heart and looks to Mama, wondering if she could somehow understand what he’s trying to say. ‘It’s this, Mama. This is where I’ve put him and he’s left because- because-’  
  
‘Because you haven’t let him out of it,’ Mama suggests gently and it’s a relief, cool and mighty and it washes over Moomin instantly because _yes._  
  
He shakes his head, tears falling proper now and he keeps trying to wipe at them but it doesn’t help. He’s such a sodding crybaby, always has been and oh, what he wouldn’t give to just be able to turn it off just once.  
  
‘I don’t even know if I can,’ Moomin blubbers, voice squeaky like he’s a kit again. ‘And that’s why I know he’s not coming. He’s stuck here already and can’t be stuck twice. Won’t be.’  
  
‘Is it stuck?’  
  
‘It is to Snufkin.’  
  
Mama doesn’t say anything to that. Moomin supposes there isn’t much to be saying to it anyway; some things just are, after all. That’s what Snufkin would say, no doubt. Were he here.  
  
‘Did you know, dear, that some swallows return to the same nests for as long as forty years?’ Mama says, blithely changing the subject and Moomin sits up, watching her and confused. They both look to the sky, watching the swallows swoop.  
  
‘That’s... a long time.’  
  
‘It is,’ Mama says, swirling the tea in her cup before taking a sip. ‘To think, those small little creatures fly so very far away but when they come back, they come to the same place. Almost like coming home.’  
  
‘Maybe they just build really good nests,’ Moomin says and Mama looks at him, smiles and puts a paw to his cheek.  
  
‘Maybe they do,’ she says, pressing a kiss to the side of Moomin’s head. ‘But it’s interesting, isn’t it? A nest that’s empty doesn’t mean it’s one unloved. Or one abandoned. Sometimes, they are just empty for now.’  
  
‘Empty for now,’ Moomin repeats and Mama kisses him again, rubbing her thumb over the fluff of his cheek.  
  
‘Only for now,’ Mama says, looking back up again. ‘It makes you think though, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s very easy to see things one way. That a nest is waiting until the swallow returns. But perhaps the swallow is waiting just as much, if not more, to come home to it as well.’  
  
Moomin feels like he may start crying again. A great deal of this whole thing doesn’t feel fair. It feels cruel and bad-timed, it feels like giving something up and Moomin knows it shouldn’t feel like any of those things but then… when has any of this ever been what it’s supposed to be?  
  
‘I think I need to go to bed,’ Moomin says and Mama lets him get up, going back to her tea. ‘I need some time to think.’  
  
‘Goodnight then, dear,’ Mama says and Moomin is nearly back through the door before she adds after him; ‘There’s always something waiting for you, Moomintroll. Don’t give away what belongs to something that isn’t here to ask you to keep it. After all, you’re not the one who needs to come back.’  
  
That lingers long after Moomin is alone in his room, the merriment continuing downstairs without him. He thinks about it slow, like turning a fine shell in his paws to see all the colours.  
  
And for the first time since Spring has started, he closes his bedroom window and sleeps until morning.   
  
  
*/  
  
  
  
Some days, Moomin thinks it’s all too much.  
  
It’s too much to get up out of bed, to eat and make his way through a day knowing Snufkin won’t come. He lies under the blankets, paws in tight fists and tears running and something so deep, and hollow, and dark inside it threatens to swallow him whole.  
  
He thinks of Snufkin. Of what might’ve happened, of the choices Snufkin might’ve made. The grief is the colour of coals burning too hot; ashen and bright. It sears inside and Moomin constantly turns like the wind between fear that something is keeping Snufkin from coming back and fear there’s nothing at all.  
  
Missing Snufkin knowing he isn’t coming back is very different to any missing Moomin might’ve done before. Moomin wonders if he’s out of practice, somehow. If it has always been so hard or if it’s like using a muscle one hasn’t in a while.

 _Perhaps I will relearn it,_ he thinks.  
  
It’s one of these bleak days that Little My finally thaws.  
  
She finds him on the bridge where he’s sitting between waiting and not. She sits down beside him, frowning as she so often is and Moomin watches her, unsure.  
  
'Wotcher,' she says and Moomin hums back to her. 'I'm thinking of going to visit Sniff later. Well, it’s not really a visit so much as an... endeavour. Want to come?'  
  
Moomin doesn't really but isn't sure how to say. 'Maybe another time.'  
  
'Why? Got a busy schedule?'

'Something like that.'  
  
Neither can seem to think of anything to say to that and an awkward silence grows. Moomin has his eyes down on the stream, watching the water run over stones and pull the reeds like ribbons.  
  
‘I don’t blame you, you know,’ she says at last and Moomin blinks, more confused and she swings her short legs beneath the bridge. ‘Mama says you think I blame you.’  
  
‘Oh. Right.’  
  
‘And I just wanted you to know that I don’t,’ she says, looking everywhere but at Moomin it seems. Moomin never sees her so twitchy unless up to something. ‘I just-’  
  
Little My stops and it’s even more surprising, as Moomin has never seen her start a sentence she didn’t intend on finishing. She seems surprised herself, frowning even more and wrinkling her nose.  
  
‘I’m not good at this,’ she huffs, kicking her heels under the bridge. ‘This feelings business.’  
  
Moomin sighs. ‘Me either, if it helps.’  
  
‘I didn’t know what to say to you,’ Little My continues, like Moomin hasn’t said anything. ‘I didn’t know what to say and it made me angry. You get it?’  
  
Moomin takes too long to recognise this apology for what it is. He considers his words; there’s a lot they can say, but Moomin is out of things to say if he’s to be honest. This is enough. It’s… release and sometimes, that’s all one needs.  
  
‘I get it,’ he says at last and Little My sags, leaning her small body against him.  
  
Since then, it gets a little better.  
  
Moomin gets up; he has his breakfast, helps Papa with the garden and walks the valley until the sky dims. Somehow, the valley has gotten smaller while Moomin hasn’t been looking and when he reaches the edge, he stares out at a road untravelled and wonders about Snufkin.  
  
Some days, Moomin doesn’t want to let the missing go. Some days, it feels like all he has is the missing and to let it go means to let Snufkin go and no matter whatever else seems to be happening, Moomin just can’t bring himself to do it.  
  
But other days, it’s not letting go it’s merely putting it down. Moomin comes back to it in the evenings, sometimes mid-afternoon, but he’s learning not to carry it with him. And every day, it gets easier and every day, Moominvalley continues to get smaller. Moomin wonders how he’s never noticed before.  
  
It’s nearing Summer when Moomin realises he’s coming to a decision. It creeps up on him like the balmy warmth and as Bealtaine looms, the memories of last year seem clearer than anything has this season so far.  
  
It’s what has him open the top drawer in his desk, closed for a while now and he takes his diary out. He goes backwards, turning the pages of their chronicled quiet Winter and instead goes further. Finds the itinerary he’d written once for Snufkin and himself.  
  
‘Papa,’ he asks as he comes down the stairs, His father is sitting in his armchair and looks up from the book he is reading. ‘Can I ask you something?’  
  
‘Of course!’ Papa says brightly, closing his book. ‘Whatever you need, son.’  
  
After that, it all seems rather simple.  
  
  
*/  


‘But I don’t understand!’

‘You don’t have to. It’s not about you, after all,’ Moomin replies to Little My who is doing her best to be as much of a nuisance as possible as he packs in the bedroom. That is to say- a great nuisance indeed.

‘Explain it to me!’ she says furiously, kicking his pack where it’s balanced on the bed. It wavers, but does not fall and she frowns as though personally offended by this. 

Moomin sighs, scratching one of his ears.

‘I don’t think I can explain it, really,’ he says truthfully but Little My turns her glare upon him. A look like that could turn milk, Moomin thinks. ‘I don’t even really get it myself, is all! I just know this something I have to do.’

‘But why?’ Little My says for the umpteenth time since this whole thing started. She waves a tiny hand manically. ‘To find Snufkin? You don’t have to go buggering off into the great unknown for that, just stay here and wait like the rest of us! Think how stupid it’ll be when he comes back and you’re not here!’

‘I’m not going to look for Snufkin,’ Moomin says but Little My makes a nasty noise at that. He sighs, tightening the straps of his pack around his sleeping mat. ‘You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true.’

‘If not for Snufkin, then for what?’ Little My demands, but Moomin ignores her as he steps back to regard his pack and tries to think of anything he may have forgotten. ‘What’s out there that you can’t have right here?’ 

‘Lots of things, I imagine,’ Moomin says blithely but Little My doesn’t seem very convinced. ‘Oh, fine! I’m sort of making this up as I go along, is that what you want to hear?’

‘Not particularly,’ Little My replies tartly, crossing her arms and turning, if possible, even more sour. ‘What if you fall off a cliff? Or get caught in a nasty trap? Or eaten by some big terrible creature?’

‘It’d want to be a pretty big creature, alright,’ Moomin jokes, patting his own big tummy but Little My doesn’t crack. 

Truth be told, Moomin is afraid of much the same himself but every time he thinks he might change his mind, he realises quite resolutely that he won’t. 

‘Don’t worry, Little My. I’m not going off with the purpose of finding trouble.’ 

‘You never do and yet your daft, big nose gets stuck in it anyway,’ Little My says, a touch cruelly but Moomin can’t even think to defend himself. ‘And I’m not.’ 

‘Not what?’

‘Worried. I couldn’t give a toss one way or another. But Snufkin will be upset when he gets back and you’re not here because you went and got cursed or something.’

Moomin doesn’t say anything to that; truly, he doesn’t even know what he might. He knows what he thinks and normally he’s pretty careless with how he manages that, but something about the tight way Little My is holding herself together tells him to be wary about speaking too soon on anything. 

Little My, naturally, notices and rounds on him instantly.

‘Go on, say it.’

‘Say what?’

‘Whatever nonsense is rolling around in that nitwit brain of yours,’ she says tightly, tapping a small foot as though she’s the one entitled to be losing patience.

‘It’s just… about Snufkin-'  
  
Little My goes stiff like a beetle that's been trod on.

‘Snufkin’s coming back.’

Moomin swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. ‘He might not, though.’ 

‘He will!’ Little My snaps, surprisingly defensive and Moomin jumps, taken aback. She flushes, looking caught out and turns away quickly. ‘He will come back because that’s what Snufkin does. He always comes back.’

‘Maybe,’ Moomin says uneasily, wary of Little My’s composure. Or rather lack thereof. It’s not like her to be so… fretful. Fussy, yes. But this is a different thing it seems and Moomin feels rather out of his depth with it.

‘So don’t go,’ Little My says, rounding on Moomin again. ‘Stay here and wait. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you love someone, right? Like all your stupid princesses in your stupid books. They wait and then the prince comes back.’

‘I don’t think real love works that way,’ Moomin says awkwardly, wringing his paws together. ‘They’re fairytales.’

‘Well, they had to come from somewhere!’ Little My retorts and Moomin can’t really argue that. 

‘I guess they do. But not from me, I think.’

‘But when will you come back?’ Little My asks, an edge to her voice. ‘Spring?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe longer than that though. When I’m ready, I guess.’

‘So that’s it then?’ she says darkly and Moomin pauses in what he’s doing, surprised by her tone. Even for her, it’s bitter. ‘You leave for you. You come back for you.’

‘Who else should I do it all for?’

‘Bit selfish, innit?’ she says and Moomin flushes, offended. 

‘I don’t think so,’ he says but Little My scoffs.

‘Yeah, but you would say that,’ she says, huffy. ‘You and Snufkin. Not so different after all.’ 

Moomin lets that sit for a moment, mulling it over. ‘No. I suppose we're not.’   
  
Little My looks like she might say something else, but ultimately she doesn't. Instead, she hops from the bed and stalks right out the door, slamming it behind her.   
  
Moomin only just got her talking to him and now she's ticked off again.  
  
No one sees hide nor hair of her since. Moomin had thought something might tempt her from where ever she'd run off to, but not even the bait of a foolhardy Sniff carrying a basket of berries ripe for being knocked from his paws had been enough. Moomin is half-way through thanking Sniff when Sniff interrupts to say the berries are for the Bealtaine party, where he intends to try and sell them.

Moomin grumbles, thinking that if Sniff ever deserved a little Mymble to come and tip him it would be now. But Little My doesn't come.  
  
Moomin is leaving in the morning, as the first day of Summer will break and he's beginning to wonder if he'll see her at all.  
  
Sniff is getting ready to leave for Mrs Fillyjonk's, her hydrangeas suitably coloured this season for Bealtaine it seems.   
  
'Are you really leaving?' he asks, for the fiftieth or so time since arriving at all and Moomin resists the urge to throttle him with his own tail.  
  
'Yes, Sniff,' he says, trying to sound cool about it. Tries to emulate the effortless way Snufkin would ooze confidence before. 'I really am leaving.'  
  
'Seems like an awful lot of bother just because you're not coupled anymore. I've never been coupled but you don't see me running from the valley.'  
  
'It's not about that, Sniff!' Moomin retorts, even if some of it is indeed a touch about that. 'Have you never just realised there are things you have to do for yourself?'  
  
'I only ever do things for myself,' Sniff says blankly and Moomins is stunned, until he isn't and suddenly he laughs. He laughs so loud and so brightly he startles himself.  
  
'Sniff,' Moomin says, still chortling. 'You've got some brass neck, you know that?'  
  
'I wish,' Sniff says, sounding genuinely disappointed. 'Think of what I could sell that for.'  
  
'I can only imagine,' Moomin says, stopping Sniff before he leaves to hand him a letter. 'Will you give this to Snorkmaiden for me?'  
  
'You're not coming for the party?' Sniff asks, frowning but he takes the letter all the same. Moomin rubs the back of his neck.   
  
'No, got an early start and all that. She won't mind, I think she might prefer the letter a little bit more to be honest. Touch more fanciful, innit?'  
  
Sniff is still frowning, turning the letter one way and then another like he's trying to read through the envelope. Moomin bristles, not at all impressed.   
  
'And private,' he adds firmly and Sniff starts, fur sticking up with embarrassment. He promises to give it to Snorkmaiden and saunters off, basket of berries and brazenness intact for the shame of it.   
  
The next morning, which comes all too soon as these things so often do, Moomin wakes before everyone.   
  
He goes to his bedroom window, looks out at the valley and where the sun is just starting to turn the sky a bright pink colour. He wonders if Snufkin is up yet, where ever he may be. 

_Be safe,_ Moomin thinks every morning when he wonders of Snufkin. _You don't have to be here. But be safe._  
  
Moomin lingers, a paw against the glass and his thoughts so very far away but eventually, the day must start.   
  
Moomin lets Mama kiss him a few more times after breakfast, ruffling his fur all the wrong way and Papa gives him a firm hug, cracking a rib or two no doubt as Moomin wheezes. He hovers after, just for a moment and tries to make it seem like he’s just adjusting the strap of his pack, but Mama gives him a look. She always knows.  
  
‘I’m sure Little My will make up for it when you come back, dear. Not everyone is so very good at goodbyes.’  
  
'Might true, that!' Papa says brightly, tipping his hat back. 'Why, I have quite a few friends who owe me a goodbye or two! Gives you something to talk about at the very least when you see each other again!'   
  
'I suppose that's one way to look at it,' Moomin says, still looking but he shouldn't leave it much longer. He wants to be well onto the mountain path by noon; he doesn't fancy going too much uphill in Summer sun.   
  
'Is it time to go, my dear?' Mama asks, unsteady and it's that that has Moomin snap out of his searching for Little My. He looks at his mother and sees her eyes shining. Moomin isn't sure he's ever seen her cry before.   
  
'Yeah...' he says, coming forward to give her one more hug. 'Yeah, it really is.'  
  
Mama lets her paws slide all down his arms before they finally part. Moomin waves a good while down to the bridge, watches as his parents send him off like a bark boat in the stream. It feels so strange to leave like this. Moomin wonders if the path has always been so wide, so long and how could he never have noticed how easy it is to walk away from something until now?   
  
Far away as he is, Moomin can't help but feel somewhere inside, he's brought Snufkin closer. It feels as good as it does bad; which like all things with Snufkin, is always close but never entirely. Moomin wonders if he'll ever feel something entirely again.   
  
Distracted as he is, Moomin doesn't notice right away that someone is calling his name. He stops half-way across the bridge, turning around to see Little My on the other side. He looks around wildly, wondering how on earth she could've appeared like this.  
  
'Little My, how did-?'  
  
'So, that's it then,' she says, arms crossed and a very sour look on her face. 'You're really doing this.'  
  
'Looks like,' Moomin says though it's not a question. Little My lurks and scowls, but she doesn't seem to have much else to say. He gives it another few seconds and when she still says nothing else, he decides he simply can’t wait any longer. 

‘Well,’ he says, turning to go and waving a paw behind him for her. ‘Bye then!’

Moomin walks away, eyes ahead and considering the wood before him when something suddenly barrels into the back of his knees, just as he hits the end of the bridge. 

He nearly topples, but a paw thrown out to grip the end of the railing steadies him as something small and fast throws her skinny arms around his legs from behind. 

Moomin tries to twist his body to look down at where Little My is clutching him tightly, her pointy nose sticking right into the back of his right knee. 

‘Don’t be like Snufkin,’ she says, muffled by fur and Moomin pricks his ears to hear better. ‘He’s a horrible Mumrik who doesn’t keep his promises.’

Moomin sighs, heart bending like the path. 

‘No. I suppose he doesn’t.’

‘He didn’t come back and if you don’t come back either—'

‘Hey.’ Moomin bends down, reaching out to untangle Little My from him. He kneels in the dirt and puts his paws to her shoulders, careful not to look at her face as he knows she’d be embarrassed. ‘I’m coming back. I promise.’ 

‘If you don’t leave at all, then it won’t matter.’

‘I’ve got to leave.’

‘I wish you didn’t. I wish nobody ever did.’ 

‘So do I,’ Moomin tells her. ‘But we do.’ 

‘I don’t.’

‘You’ve done you’re leaving already.’

‘But you’re where you’re supposed to be right now!’ Little My implores tightly. ‘You’ve got your house, your own room! You’ve got Moominmama and Moominpapa and- and-‘

‘And they’ll all be still here for me when I get back,’ Moomin says, looking at Little My properly. Her face is red and eyes shiny. She looks like someone to Moomin, with her nose red like that, though he can’t think who. ‘And even if they’re not, that’s the chance we take with leaving, isn’t it?’

Little My sniffles and Moomin pretends not to notice. ‘Doesn’t seem worth the chance.’

‘Won’t know til I try, I suppose. Some things aren’t supposed to wait.’

‘You wait for Snufkin.’

Moomin takes a long moment to reply to that one. It settles between them and Little My wipes her nose on the back of her hand. 

‘I’m not waiting now,’ he says, unsure even to himself and a Little My gives him a stern look. 

‘If you won’t wait for him, then I won’t wait for you.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I won’t! And then who’ll be crying when you come back and we’ve all forgotten you?’

‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ Moomin says insistently, squeezing Little My and how big his paws are on so small a thing! ‘I’m not going to forget Snufkin.’

‘You should,’ Little My says thickly, sniffling again. ‘He deserves it. It’s all wrong now and it’s his fault. He’s supposed to come back and you’re supposed to stay here.’

‘Since when do you care about supposed to?’ Moomin asks, bumping her chin with his other paw so she might look at him. 

Little My trembles for a moment before she does something most unexpected. She jumps forward and puts her arms around Moomin's neck, or at least as much of it as she can which is really not very much. But it's rather more the principle of the thing; Moomin doesn't think she's ever hugged him before. He does the only thing that feels right and hugs her back. He could wrap his arms around her twice.  
  
'Don't get into too much trouble without me,' he tells her and she pucks him, not as hard as she usually does.   
  
'Not much hope of that without you around.'  
  
When Moomin finally makes his way to the path, he feels like Little My is still watching him. If he had pockets, he thinks he'd have put that hug she gave him in one and carried it with him like yarrow leaves around his neck.  
  
As it is, he holds the straps of his pack and looks ahead and carries it where he carries everything else. Close to the chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ride on_ by christy moore


	16. Chapter 16

Snufkin doesn't have a tune this year.   
  
Or rather, he doesn't have a tune to play. There's one in his head alright but he hasn't quite put it to the harmonica yet. He'd tried once before, on the cliffs of some distant place with his ocean crashing far down below his feet. And it is his, when he is there. Snufkin thinks a great many things his when he's there.   
  
It had come out so low and mournful, like a soft weeping and Snufkin hasn't touched his harmonica since. It had sounded like an apology.   
  
Now, as Snufkin walks through trees familiar and flowers new, the song has come to him like something known, too. He's played it before and Spring surely deserves something new but Snufkin doesn't have anything new.  
  
It had frightened him at first, when he'd caught himself humming it. Scared him off South, then West. Further and further away.   
  
_I won't be back in time for Spring in Moominvalley,_ he'd thought but his boots carried him anyway. Maybe he'd be back for Summer instead.  
  
Then Summer had come and gone, too. Snufkin has been so many places and played so many songs- except for the one that keeps coming back. Round and round again, like the Moon around the great world and Snufkin is just caught in the tide. Lately, he's been swimming against it.   
  
Snufkin hadn't meant to be gone so long. Every time he thought it might've been time to go back though, Snufkin had simply known that he couldn't. Wouldn't. It really was all so very jumbled up. The staying-sickness had been so strong at first and after that there'd be the terrible unpleasantness in not turning back, in longing for something that had been so near and was then so far and realising too late that a door left open is not always goodbye.   
  
Snufkin doesn't have a door of his own. It can be easy to forget such things and when remembered, Snufkin had stopped half-way through a field of bright yellow grass that came to his knees and rubbed together like straw and thought-  
  
 _I can go back._  
  
And he nearly had. Nearly, but then didn't. Snufkin is a creature made up of very many _nearlys._  
  
But now it's Spring again, twice over. He's late; so very late, even for him and he wonders what that means. He's wondered as he walked through a Summer sun that was not in Moominvalley, as he slept beneath unknown trees that had rained orange and yellow down on top of him. He wonders it again now as the path becomes more well-travelled, closer to Moominhouse. For where else is there to go but where Moomintroll will be?  
  
When Snufkin gets to the bridge, all he can hear is the valley. The stream is swollen with thawed ice and the cleared snow and there's a bird chirping nearby. No song, because Snufkin hasn't given one and he wonders what it must've been like last season without him coming at all. Did the birds sing a tune all of their own? Snufkin wonders if Moomintroll liked it at all, or just as much. Maybe even more.   
  
Snufkin stands at the foot of the bridge and stares up at Moominhouse. His hands are tight on the straps of his pack, throat tight with a great deal unsaid.  
  
'Snufkin?'  
  
It's not Moomintroll. Snufkin turns around to see Moominmama, of all creatures. She's standing with a basket over one arm, filled with lavender that bursts bright and purple at the ends. She's staring at him, eyes quite round and Snufkin doesn't think he's ever seen her surprised before.   
  
'Moominmama,' he says, voice a touch rapsy. It's been a while since he's said anything out loud. 'Hello.'  
  
'Hello,' she says back, very still. Between them, there's only the sound of the water and the grass shifting together. At last, she smiles. 'It's good to see you, dear.'  
  
Snufkin relaxes something inside he hadn't realised had been wound tight. 'It's good to see you, too.'  
  
'I didn't hear your tune in the wood.'  
  
'I haven't played one,' Snufkin tells her, quiet as he's bashful. There's so much all knotted up about it, after all. 'I was waiting to see Moomintroll and ask him if he'd like it.'  
  
'If it's yours, he would've liked it,' Moominmama says and Snufkin frowns, not following. Something strange passes her face. 'But Moomintroll isn't here.'  
  
Snufkin isn't sure what else he could've expected. He's so very late.   
  
'I'll wait for him here until he gets back then,' Snufkin says, nodding to himself. 'It's gone so long without being played anyway, what's another short while?'  
  
'Rather so on any other day, I think. But Snufkin, dear-' Moominmama fidgets with the end of a lavender stem. 'When I say Moomintroll isn't here, I mean he is not here quite at all.'  
  
'I don't understand,' Snufkin replies, a hollow opening inside.   
  
'Moomintroll left last Summer,' Moominmama says and Snufkin just shakes his head, as that makes no sense to him. 'Off to adventure, I would think.'  
  
'Adventure?' Snufkin repeats and Moominmama nods.   
  
'He said he would be back,' she continues, coming closer. 'But I don't know when. Not exactly the kind of thing one puts to a schedule, I suppose.'  
  
Snufkin doesn't answer that. Isn't sure how he would even if he could think of something to say. Moominmama puts a paw on his shoulder, squeezes him there and Snufkin leans towards her without thinking.   
  
'You've been travelling a long while, Snufkin,' she says kindly. 'Why not come in for some coffee? You must be running low if not out altogether.'  
  
'Coffee,' Snufkin says mildly, swallowing awkwardly around the sudden sting in his throat. 'Yes. I think coffee would be nice.'  
  
  
*/  
  
  
Snufkin sits down in the middle of the bridge and takes his harmonica from his pocket.   
  
He taps it against his palm, considers what to do as there's so much that hasn't been done. Namely, coming back on time. Snufkin is not one for thinking of _maybe's_ and _might've's_ , but right now it's all he can do. If he'd been here last Spring, as usual, where would Moomintroll be then? Would he have left anyway?  
  
Snufkin isn't sure why but he somehow knows that watching Moomintroll leave would've been worse than coming to find him gone. Being forgotten, if that is indeed what's happened, is something one can only bear happening to them when not looking, Snufkin thinks.   
  
Moominmama said he's not been forgotten over coffee. Moominpapa hadn't said much at all, but he gave Snufkin a new pouch of tobacco and truly, those few moments may have been the most they've ever spent together just the two of them.   
  
'It's good leaf,' Moominpapa had said, patting Snufkin once hard on the back. 'Not the kind to burn through quickly. Take your time with it, eh?'  
  
Snufkin doesn't feel like smoking. He doesn't feel like playing his tune either. But still he sits here by the stream and taps the harmonica against his hand and thinks. There's much to think about.   
  
This thinking is interrupted by voices from the wood. Foolishly, Snufkin's hopes jump far too high and he suffers the bitter disappointment of it when it is, of course, not Moomintroll. Instead, it the Mymble's daughter. Though as she comes closer, Snufkin sees that is in fact the Mymble's daughters- plural.   
  
Mymble stops first, being so much taller and seeing him before Little My does. But Little My is not far behind in this and she meets Snufkin's gaze.   
  
Little My blinks at him, mouth open like a fish.   
  
'It's you,' she says, pointing at him brashly.   
  
'Well, who else would it be?' Snufkin asks her, looking down at himself as though he were somehow changed. When he looks back up, he sees she's running towards him and he starts, alarmed.   
  
She runs all the way up the bridge, huffing when she gets to him. With his sitting on the edge of the bridge and her standing, she makes it to his shoulder and stares up at him with that same daft look of surprise. It's unbecoming on her, Snufkin thinks before wincing to himself at his cruelty. Not a very nice thing to think, even if true.  
  
'Why are you here?' she asks rudely, proving herself to be capable still of her own cruelties and Snufkin looks down at his boots where they swing above the stream.   
  
'Must there be a reason? Perhaps this is just where I am.'  
  
'It's where you weren't. Why?' she asks, poking him in the arm with a bony finger. He swats at her. 'Wow. You really are here. I thought maybe I'd dreamed you up.'  
  
'I'm flattered,' Snufkin says sarcastically, glancing over and Little My pulls a face. Snufkin looks at her up and down. 'You've a new dress.'  
  
'I've new lots of things. Not that you'd know, being a run-off Mumrik,' Little My says, folding her arms.  
  
The dress is black, pleated with white at the skirt and perhaps on someone taller it would look too sombre. As it is, Snufkin can't help but think Little My looks very grown up and though there is no good reason it should, the thought makes him sad.   
  
'It's nice, isn't it?' the Mymble's daughter says, walking up the bridge to join them. She sits down like Snufkin, humming happily as though this were any other day. Snufkin stares at her, awkward. He can't remember the last time he spoke to the Mymble's daughter. 'I made it for her just before Autumn last year, didn't I, My? Took me ages to get all that tiny stitching to look so neat.'  
  
'And I haven't heard the end of it since,' Little My says, rolling her eyes. She then returns her glare to Snufkin. 'You look the same.'  
  
'Do I?'   
  
'I thought you might look different. If you ever came back.'  
  
'I suppose I didn't have much reason to be different,' Snufkin says to that but Little My just taps her foot, face going a bright colour along her round cheeks.   
  
'But you were,' she says and Snufkin flinches from the accusatory tone she laces the words with. 'You were very different. You didn't come back.'  
  
'I've come back now-' Snufkin tries to say but Little My runs right through it.  
  
'What good is it now?' she huffs, turning away from him. 'We've all near forgotten you.'  
  
That stings and Snufkin can't say anything to it. Perhaps forgotten is better though, than whatever Moomintroll may have thought.   
  
The three of them stay together in an awkward silence and while Snufkin is normally for silence, awkward or not, this time he only wishes they would leave. He wishes they'd go off and do whatever it is Mymbles do in their time and leave him be. He wishes Little My wasn't angry. He wishes a great deal of things, really. One after another like domino tiles.  
  
'Did you have nice travels, Snufkin?' the Mymble's daughter asks and it takes Snufkin a moment to realise she's talking to him.   
  
'Oh.' He taps the harmonica again. 'Yes, they were well enough. Long.'  
  
'Yes, you were gone sometime,' she says idly, straightening the pinafore she's wearing over her knee so it hangs better. 'Little My was very upset with you over it. Weren't you, My?'  
  
Snufkin and Little My look at each other before quickly looking away again.   
  
'Came crying to me last season, her poor sister whom she never visits unless to pinch something from my pantry!' Mymble continues, putting on great airs of misfortune and Little My breaks entirely.  
  
She shoves Mymble so hard she nearly topples over the bridge entirely and into the stream. Mymble, for her part, doesn't look even half as troubled as Snufkin would've thought her to be.  
  
'Careful, Little My. You nearly lost me then and what would you do if I'd gone and drowned?'  
  
'Wouldn't I be lucky to know,' Little My grumbles back before storming off the bridge, up along the stream. Snufkin watches her go, gets a nag in his chest that isn't sure he should follow.   
  
His neck prickles, knowing he's being watched and turns to see the Mymble's daughter is indeed doing so. Her eyes are blue like Moomintroll's.   
  
'You're a funny sort. You Mumriks,' she says and Snufkin bristles, ducking his head to hide somewhat beneath the brim of his hat. 'You've got such terribly deep feelings, don't you?'  
  
'I've never met another Mumrik,' Snufkin says instead of answering that and Mymble makes a thoughtful noise.   
  
'You might yet,' she says to that and Snufkin keeps his head down. He looks at his harmonica, where it's all scratched and dull in places after years of being tossed about. 'But it's true all the same, isn't it? You've got these big old feelings that you can't manage so you've got to walk and walk just to try and reach the end of them.'  
  
Snufkin has never thought of it like that before but it hits close to the bone. He wants to be alone. No, he doesn't actually. But Moomintroll isn't here and Snufkin would rather be without entirely if that.  
  
'Feelings can be scary,' Mymble says and though Snufkin agrees with her on that, he doesn't feel much like talking about it. 'Little My's scared of hers, too.'  
  
'Little My knows her own mind,' Snufkin says, defending her without thinking.  
  
'Not her mind we're talking about. She's got enough of her own that none of us are ever going to get a word in edge-ways.'  
  
Snufkin starts when Mymble comes close, bumping her shoulder to his. He looks at her, surprised and unsure.   
  
'Hearts are a little trickier though,' she tells him, smiling sadly. 'We're all less good at keeping someone out of those.'  
  
Snufkin tightens his grip on the harmonica. 'I'm happy you're well, Mymble.'  
  
'Likewise,' she replies, getting up and brushing her pinafore down. 'Tell Little My I'm going to the house if you get the chance. I'm borrowing some needles from Moominmama. I'll see her later.'  
  
With that, the Mymble's daughter gives Snufkin a little wave and wanders off up towards Moominhouse. Snufkin looks away. Little My is off up-stream, pacing one way and then another by some wildflowers. Snufkin gets up and heads straight over.   
  
'Can I talk to you a while?' he asks once he gets close and Little My keeps pacing, as though ignoring him.   
  
'Do what you like. You always do,' she says, swatting at some meadow cat's-tails. Most come up near the top of her head. 'Not like you for a chinwag though.'  
  
'Been a while since I've last had one.'  
  
'And who's fault is that?' Little My says bitterly, getting a small hand on the stalk of a cat's-tail and tugging. It comes up easily and she uses it to bat a the other stems. 'You've been gone a really long time. Didn't you make any new friends?'  
  
Snufkin watches her move, the anxious sway of her body and how deeply unhappy with him she clearly is. It coils around inside his chest like thorny brambles. He doesn't want her to be unhappy with him.   
  
'I didn't want new friends. I have good ones here.'  
  
'Could've fooled me.'  
  
'Little My, please,' Snufkin sighs and he catches himself too late. It sounds like a scold and Little My rounds on himself instantly.   
  
'Oh, that's just taking the biscuit now,' she says firmly, pointing at him with her cat's-tail. 'Are you actually going to stand there and give out? I'm the one here who should be giving out!'  
  
Snufkin raises his hands in surrender and says quickly; 'I'm not giving out.'  
  
'Miserable Snufkin,' Little My continues and then she whacks him with the cat's-tail. It's a flimsy bit of grass and she's not very strong, but Snufkin gets the brunt of the sentiment all the same. 'That's what you are. Do you know that?'  
  
Snufkin is beginning to think that he does.   
  
He lets her hit him one more time, thinking it might better than talking altogether but the cat's-tail bends at the stem, too flimsy to keep up with Little My's anger. She stares at it, frown deepening and tosses it over her shoulder. 'Useless thing.'  
  
'Will you pick another?'

'What for?' Little My says, crossing her narrow arms. 'No fun if you just _let_ me puck you with it.'

Snufkin hums. 'I don't have to let you.'  
  
'But you will,' Little My says and Snufkin certainly can't dent that. 'You always let me.'  
  
Snufkin does and he's not sure why that's a bad thing right now, but the way Little My is curling in so tight, round and round like a ball of yarn, makes him feel like it must be quite a bad thing indeed. He thinks, just for a moment, about not letting her away with it. Any of it. He finds he can't even entertain the thought in itself.   
  
'Would you like to go to your room?' Snufkin asks instead of untangling all that, using the harmonica to point to Moominhouse.  
  
'I don't live here anymore.'  
  
'Oh.' Snufkin is completely thrown by this. 'Where do you live now?'  
  
'With Mymble.'  
  
'Your sister.'  
  
'Yes,' Little My says, kicking a dandelion. All the seeds plume and fly away as she does. 'No point sticking around with no Moomintroll to bother. Suppose you're thinking the same thing.'  
  
Snufkin frowns. 'I don't know what you mean.'  
  
'Well, you're not going to stay here if he's not about, are you?' Little My snaps, still not looking at him. Dandelion seeds float up and around them, the breeze not strong enough to carry them far.   
  
'I always come to the valley in Spring,' he says to that, watching the dandelion seeds as they fall down by the edge of the stream. Some get caught in the water and washed away.   
  
'You didn't last Spring. You should've been here last Spring.'  
  
'I'm here now.'  
  
'What good is now?' Little My asks him and Snufkin watches the water wash it all away. 'Everything's different now. No point in you doing the same thing anymore if no one else is going to be the same.'  
  
'Well, if everyone else is different but I'm the same, then that makes me different to everyone else,' Snufkin replies, looking over to her and he finds she's watching him. 'So I guess it'll be as good now as it'll ever be.'  
  
They both look each other a long moment. The water is trickling over the rocks and overhead, there's birds chattering. Snufkin looks up and sees starlings. Their murmuration is like a great rain cloud, shifting black and quick over them.   
  
'I thought you'd come back,' Little My says when Snufkin looks back to her. She's got a very odd look on her face. On anyone else, it might've been sad and Snufkin thinks about what the Mymble's daughter said about Little My crying last season. 'Come sooner, I mean.'  
  
'I know,' Snufkin replies, closest to an apology he's come in a long while. 'But I've come now.'  
  
'Do you really have friends here?' Little My says, eyes searching. 'Other friends. Not just Moomintroll.'  
  
Snufkin walks over to her and bends down. He gets to his knees and it's not much of an improvement, as she really is so very little, but it helps and Snufkin sits back on his heels.   
  
'Yes, I do,' Snufkin says surely and he holds his harmonica over. 'Here.'  
  
Little My stares at it with a deep frown. 'What are you doing?'  
  
'Time for something else new. I'd say you could learn anything if you put your mind to it.'  
  
'I don't want your old tat!'  
  
Snufkin doesn't say anything else, just keeps his harmonica where it is and Little My eyes it a touch longer. Then, she takes it. It's big enough to be like a trombone in her tiny hands.   
  
'What about your silly tune? Going to just hum it this year?' she asks, holding the harmonica against her little body. Snufkin shrugs.   
  
'It's not ready yet,' he says for it's true. Little My purses her lips, seemingly thinking about something.   
  
'I'm not keeping this,' she tells him, nodding to the harmonica and Snufkin nods, understanding that. 'And I'm not going to play it either.'  
  
'What will you do?'  
  
Little My smiles then. It's the first time she's smiled at Snufkin in a long while.  
  
'Something I oughtn't.'  
  
Truly, Snufkin thinks he's happier with that than a song.   
  
  
*/  
  


Snufkin has his camp set up by the stream, the grass verdant and grown over more than he's ever seen it. He even has to dig a little to get the fire-pit back from the wild that's grown over it. He spends his days walking the wood, listening to the valley birds sing above him. None of the songs match. He's given no tune to harmonise to, after all. The song still sits inside of him, locked away like a secret and Snufkin wonders if he'll be carrying it like this forever.   
  
Moominmama gives him coffee and most times, he even stays to drink it with her. They talk about his travels, about the garden. They don't talk about Moomintroll and Snufkin wonders if that will be a secret, too. Snufkin has never had so many to keep track of before.   
  
Little My joins him most days. Most, but not all. Little My is quite a busy person now, it seems. She's taken to torturing Sniff with the harmonica though, something Snufkin isn't sure he entirely approves of but he must admit, it is quite funny. Between her horrendous wailing and Sniff's ill-tempered whimpering, there might be a song between them yet.  
  
And she does happen to only play it such when Sniff gets close to asking Snufkin about Moomintroll, which the more she did the less often he happened to do so.  
  
The time slides by so quick, quicker than Snufkin thinks it has any right to. Soon, there are pears in the Moomins garden and even as he stands there, holding Moominmama's basket for her, he wonders how they could possibly grow when something so important is missing.   
  
'Are you all right, dear?' Moominmama asks, gently placing her next pickings into the basket. Snufkin blinks, realising too late that she must've been speaking to him.   
  
'Oh, I'm sorry,' he says, neck growing warm. 'I was thinking.'  
  
'I imagine you have very important thoughts,' Moominmama says kindly and Snufkin huffs a small laugh.  
  
'Quite the opposite, I think.'  
  
'What are you thinking about?'

'Stars,' Snufkin replies honestly and Moominmama looks up at the bright afternoon sky. 'They are my very favourite thing, you know. I like to watch them at night and think about how far away they are, what it might be like to be one. To burn so brightly and have everyone admire you so much, even though you're far away.'  
  
'Sometimes it's easier to admire something when it's far away,' Moominmama says, taking the basket from Snufkin. He lets her, though his hands linger before him. He looks at how empty they are. 'But then, we don't get to know them. Sometimes it's better to be close and friendly, don't you think?'  
  
'Sometimes,' says Snufkin, closing his fingers and looking at the dirt under his nails. 'But not always. Other times, I think far away is best.'  
  
'I suppose sometimes it is.'  
  
'It's always _sometimes,'_ Snufkin thinks aloud, mostly mumbling to himself. 'Everything is always some of a thing and never all of thing. Even the stars we see are only some because the rest of it has burned away. We just see the light left behind or rather left ahead, depending on which side you look at it. Perhaps admiration is like that, too. We see something bright and lovely and think it must be too important to go anywhere, but it's actually already gone to begin with.'  
  
'Goodness me,' Moominmama says softly and Snufkin tucks his hands into his chest, suddenly self-conscious. He stares down at his boots. 'Those are some very big thoughts for a March afternoon.'  
  
'Forget I said a thing,' Snufkin pleads, deeply embarrassed. 'I was just- thinking aloud. Talking nonsense.'  
  
He thinks for a moment that Moominmama might say something, but she doesn't. She does duck a paw under his hat though, putting it palm up to his face. Her paw is larger than Moomintroll's but narrower, delicate fingers brushing at Snufkin's hair. She smiles at him and then walks away with the basket of pears, without saying anything else and Snufkin watches her go, wondering what to do. What to do about any of it.  
  
He goes away that afternoon. Not far and not for long, but go he does all the same.   
  
Snufkin walks until he makes it to the sea. In the dark evening, it looks like a sky that's torn itself open.   
  
Black, deep and breathing. Snufkin watches it and lets himself breathe.   
  
  
*/  
  
  
'Are you going to Midsummer?'  
  
'I don't think so. Are you?'  
  
'I have to go,' Little My says, sounding most bothered but there's a little smile to her face that gives her away. 'Mama's coming and there's lots to do, Mymble says.'  
  
'How busy you're getting,' Snufkin replies and Little My huffs. 'Though I have heard Mymbles are very busy creatures.'  
  
'Give over. We both know what they mean by that and the only business I want to be bothering with is my own, thanks very much,' she says, sticking her nose up and there's a quick beat before they both laugh. Snufkin tries to shush her, and himself, but it only makes them laugh more.   
  
'Stop it. He'll hear us.'  
  
'He won't hear a thing! He's got ears the size of walnuts!'

 _'Oi! What are you doing?'_ a voice shouts and they both look up to see a rather large and doubly unhappy Hemulen coming their way. Snufkin scoffs, looking at Little My from where she just getting the latch on the butterfly trap undone.   
  
'You were saying?'  
  
'Not my fault you're such a chatterbox!'   
  
Snufkin gets the grate she's just opened and shoves it back, releasing all the butterflies caught within. They spill out in a plume like paint, pink and blue and white. The Hemulen butterfly catcher stumbles towards them but they're too quick. Snufkin scoops Little My up into his arms and runs, helping her clamber up to his shoulders so he might skip through the bushes faster.   
  
They finally get to break by a tree, Snufkin huffing and Little My cackling.  
  
'I almost forgive you for taking your mouth-organ back!' she says through her giggles. 'That was nearly as fun as driving Sniff round the bend with it.'  
  
'I think that was a grand success!' Snufkin says brightly, even if his lungs burn. Little My hops down.  
  
'You could've been sneakier though,' she tells him. 'Not even Moomintroll would've messed up that badly.'  
  
She notices too late what she's said, but Snufkin doesn't mind. For the first time in a while, it doesn't hurt to look at where Moomintroll isn't.   
  
'Maybe not,' Snufkin says, smiling and he touches his chest. 'He'd have liked how I did it anyway.'  
  
Little My tuts. 'Only cause he was soft on you.'  
  
 _Yes, perhaps,_ Snufkin thinks. Was, not is.  
  
That, unfortunately, still hurts.  
  
  
*/  
  
  
Moominpapa catches Snufkin before he leaves after another coffee with Moominmama, being filled in on how the apples are coming along in the late August heat. Snufkin stiffens, unsure and a little awkward. He tries not to be but he doesn't get much chance to be anything with Moominpapa when it's just the two of them and every time it happens, they both mostly amble along to finish it as soon as possible.  
  
This time feels different. Moominpapa hovers, fixing and unfixing the hat on his head. While it's crooked, he asks; 'Got your pipe with you, Snufkin?'  
  
Snufkin nods and Moominpapa nods back at him.   
  
'Care to join me on the veranda for a smoke then?'  
  
They settle around the other side of the house. Moominpapa sits in the lawnchair and Snufkin perches himself on the bar of the spindles. The sun is beautiful and most of the late flowers are blooming now. Moominpapa lights his own pipe first, Snufkin glancing over nervously every now and then. He doesn't know why he should be nervous.   
  
'So,' Moominpapa says, chewing the bit of his pipe. 'How much longer do you think you'll stay this time, lad?'  
  
'Until it's time to go,' Snufkin replies, lighting a match. He pops his mouth to get the tobacco to light.   
  
'Yes, yes,' Moominpapa says strangely, eyes out on the valley. His pipe smokes idly as he appears not to be breathing much in and Snufkin frowns. 'Your lot have a funny way of doing it, don't you?'  
  
Snufkin bristles but swallows the tight response he first has and settles with; 'Hmm. I suppose. No more or less than any creature though.'  
  
'No, that's quite true,' Moominpapa says, puffing quick before his light goes out entirely. The tobacco smokes. 'You know, Snufkin. I'm quite the seasoned traveller myself. A proper little spice basket of experience, me! I like to think it's made me the Moomin I am today and for the most part, it has. But I also think it's made me...'  
  
Moominpapa trails off. Smoke trails from his nose and Snufkin takes a deep breath from his own. It sizzles in his lungs like soda water and he tilts his head back, letting it out in rings. When finished, he sees that Moominpapa is watching him.   
  
'You remind me so much of someone I used to know,' Moominpapa says and Snufkin pauses. No one's ever said such a thing to Snufkin before, not that he remembers anyway. He feels the strangest rub on his ego against his usual singularity. 'You really do, if you don't mind my saying. But being reminded can be so bothersome! It's like hopping radio stations half-way through and hearing the wrong ending to the story you started!'  
  
Now Snufkin isn't the one smoking, confused as he is. Truly, he and Moominpapa don't speak very often and Snufkin is beginning to see why that may be. Moominpapa doesn't seem to know how to speak to Snufkin any more than Snufkin knows how to speak to him. He wishes he felt a little braver to say that they need not say anything at all and they could simply smoke in silence, but the chance passes as Moominpapa is talking again.  
  
'I thought wrong of you, lad,' Moominpapa says and Snufkin's eyebrows raise, surprised.   
  
'How so?'  
  
'My reminding had me giving you an ending you never lived and may not have intended to live,' Moominpapa says to him and Snufkin thinks of something Moomintroll told him that Summer. That Moominpapa had known another Mumrik before. 'It was wrong of me.'  
  
'You did me no harm,' Snufkin tells him but Moominpapa doesn't look convinced.  
  
'Perhaps, but I didn't help either where I might've,' Moominpapa says, which really is quite a strange response and Snufkin wonders if indeed they're having the same conversation at all. He doesn't get much chance to dwell, for Moominpapa is speaking again; 'I have something I want to show you.'  
  
Moominpapa gets from the chair and heads inside, leaving Snufkin quite baffled but he doesn't have to wait long. Moominpapa returns with a piece of paper, crumpled and stained with something that might be tea and Snufkin knows what it is before he's told.  
  
Moominpapa says all the same; 'Moomintroll sent us a letter.'  
  
'Oh,' Snufkin says and he lowers his pipe, for there's no breath in his lungs to fill it. Moominpapa hands the page over. Snufkin's hand is shaking as he takes it, heart rabbiting in his chest.   
  
It's the second page of what is obviously a longer letter. The last few sentences describing the town Moomintroll is in a scatter the top of the page, but Snufkin barely looks for there is a postscript. He recognises Moomintroll's hand and something usually quiet roars to life inside of him. Snufkin tightens his grip on the page and it creases.   
  
_P.S  
  
If you see Snufkin at all, tell him I ~~think of him~~_ _hello ~~and to wait, if he can.~~ I'll be back soon.  
  
_Snufkin isn't sure what to say. There's a whole bunch of things really, but all he can manage is; 'Thank you.'  
  
Moominpapa doesn't answer him, but he does pat him on the shoulder.   
  
'And Snufkin?' 

'Yes?'  
  
Moominpapa pauses, brown eyes narrowed. He looks like he's thinking and whatever he's thinking is very troubling indeed. It makes Snufkin uneasy but then Moominpapa has blinked, shakes his head as though he's shaken whatever unpleasant thought it was off entirely.  
  
'Nothing, dear fellow,' Moominpapa says, laughing to himself. 'A silly notion. I had thought for a moment I might say something, but I think I've rather changed my mind.'  
  
Snufkin understands that. 'Some things can't be said.'  
  
'Indeed,' Moominpapa replies, eying his pipe with a slight frown. 'Indeed they can't.'  
  
Moominpapa goes back to his chair and they sit together a little ways longer, smoking and silent just as Snufkin had hoped they'd be. Snufkin folds the letter and puts it in his pocket. He keeps it there like a promise.   
  
  
*/  
  
  
  
One slightly misty day mid-September, the birds are very chatty and in their chat, Snufkin hears what he's been yearning to hear for a very long time. There's someone special coming through the wood.  
  
  
  
*/  
  
  
The day Moomintroll comes back, Snufkin is expecting him. He goes to the bridge with his harmonica, sits himself on the railing and waits. He doesn't wait long.  
  
Moomintroll stops at the edge of the wood, seeing Snufkin immediately. He stands there, one foot in and one foot out and his eyes fixed on Snufkin. Snufkin stares back and feels the softest part of him ache inside. _Oh,_ he thinks as everything turns so lovely. _This must be how it has always felt for you._ How incredible a feeling it is.   
  
Snufkin is expecting him to run. He's expecting the shout, the silly way Moomintroll would bustle and the excitement.  
  
None of it comes, however. Moomintroll just stops for a long moment, simply staring, before he begins to walk over. Each step closer makes Snufkin feel like the air is getting thinner. When Moomintroll gets to the bridge, he leaves his pack at the postbox and walks up, standing before Snufkin where he sits and looking up at him.   
  
'Snufkin,' Moomintroll says, quiet and breathy and nothing like what Snufkin expects. Snufkin smiles.  
  
'Moomintroll.'  
  
Moomintroll keeps staring like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. Any other day, Snufkin might've taken it as a compliment.   
  
'You're here.'  
  
Snufkin takes a breath.  
  
'You weren't.'  
  
'Why are you here?'  
  
'Why were you gone?'  
  
'The same reason you're gone, I guess,' Moomintroll says, frowning slightly and only when he flicks his ears does Snufkin realise how tall he is. Has Moomintroll always been so tall? 'Or at least I thought so at the time. Now I'm back I think it might've been a touch different.'  
  
'I suppose we'd be very uninteresting friends if we were both the same,' Snufkin suggests and Moomintroll looks like he might says something, but he doesn't. Snufkin wants him closer and isn't sure how to ask for it.  
  
'I didn't know if you'd be back. I hoped you would be but... it'd been so long, I guess,' Moomintroll says and Snufkin bites his lip, unsure or unwilling to answer that.   
  
Instead he says; 'It seems we're backwards.'  
  
'Backwards?' Moomintroll repeats and Snufkin nods, heart picking up like a breeze as Moomintroll does step closer. He leans his elbows on the railings and his shoulder near brushes against Snufkin's side where he balances himself.   
  
'When I got here,' Snufkin says, staring and staring as it's all he wants to do really. 'You were gone. I had to wait for you this time.'  
  
Moomintroll's ears go flat and he looks away. 'Sorry about that.'  
  
'Don't be. You're worth waiting for.'  
  
It goes quiet then and Snufkin can feel himself growing hot in the face. He looks away quickly, down the stream and wills the embarrassment to pass. Hopes Moomintroll doesn't notice. Backwards, indeed; Snufkin isn't sure how to be now they've been everything and then nothing so very close together. There's an inbetween he's suddenly forgot how to navigate.   
  
'So,' Snufkin continues when Moomintroll says nothing else, looking back. 'Where have you been, Moomintroll?'  
  
Moomintroll stands up straight, rubs the back of his neck and won't meet Snufkin's eye. 'Ah. Bit of a rigamarole, that.'  
  
'I see some things never change,' Snufkin teases, wishing Moomintroll would look at him. 'You were never one for an easy option.'  
  
Moomintroll laughs again. 'A truer word never spoken there, alright.'   
  
Snufkin waits, quietly admiring the shape of Moomintroll's face. He really is such a splendid creature, Snufkin thinks and he longs to say so. Not now, he thinks. But later, if Moomintroll will want to listen, of course. Snufkin isn't going to take anything for granted.  
  
'I went to all sorts of places,' Moomintroll starts to say, rubbing his paws together. Some fur sheds off and floats away. Snufkin used to carry Moomintroll's fur on him like a signature. 'The world, as it turns out, is a pretty big place.'  
  
Snufkin nods to that. 'Did you see what you wanted to see?'  
  
'It wasn't about seeing anything in particular. It was more about being somewhere.'  
  
'Ah,' Snufkin says softly. 'And were you what you wanted to be?'

‘Still working on that. I guess I wanted to go and- I don’t know, figure myself out?’ Moomintroll says after this, before scoffing. ‘Goodness, that sounds silly, doesn’t it?’

‘Nothing you say ever sounds silly to me.’

’Ah here, you’re just taking the mick there,’ Moomintroll jokes, bumping into Snufkin lightly with his shoulder. It melts the dread in Snufkin's gut like butter. ‘You think I don’t know how you'd glaze over like a fritter whenever I talked too much nonsense?’

‘You like fritters though,’ Snufkin replies and they both laugh, catching the other by surprise. It’s a good surprise. 

'Do you want to talk about it?'  
  
'I haven't talk about it to anyone before.'  
  
'Might as well start with me then,' Snufkin offers and Moomintroll holds onto the railing, eyes on the water below.   
  
'I do like starting with you,' Moomintroll replies, sweet and good and Snufkin tightens his grip on the harmonica. 'But I just got back. You sure you want to... I don't know, listen to all of this?'  
  
'What do you want?'  
  
'Big question,' Moomintroll says which isn't an answer at all. 'I'll need to head to the house soon.'  
  
Snufkin shrugs to hide the icy disappointment he feels. 'We can talk after. If you want.'  
  
'No, I want to talk now, I just-'  
  
Moomintroll sighs, ears going flat again. 

‘Thing is,’ Moomintroll says, more seriously than before. ‘I was a kit, and then grown and then I was coupled. All just-’ Moomin snaps his fingers. ‘-like that. And then it wasn’t very long before I was coupled again. Things got a bit… muddled.’

Snufkin tenses and Moomintroll must notice, as he adds much softer: 

‘Not that it was the same!’ Moomintroll says quickly, looking like he might touch Snufkin somehow before evidently deciding against it. ‘It wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. And I think that’s kind of the point. I was used to being coupled where the future seemed very far away and like it might take care of itself for it, you know?’

Snufkin doesn’t say anything, willing to listen but also too nervous to think of anything to say anyway. 

‘But with you…’ Moomintroll trails off and it’s very hard for that not to feel like a rejection. ‘With you it all seemed a lot closer. And I think it’s because I just wanted it so much more.’

‘You did?’ Snufkin says, unable to stop himself. Moomintroll looks at him, very soft and Snufkin’s heart aches. 

‘I did,’ he says again, gently.   
  
Snufkin acts without thinking. He reaches out with a hand and hovers, hesitates- just for a second- before finally touching the side of Moomintroll's snout. It's so familiar and yet Snufkin hasn't been able to remember just how it might feel quite as clearly as it is now beneath his fingers. He spreads his fingers, rolls his palm against the side of it as though to guide Moomintroll closer. Snufkin looks all over his face, almost not noticing how Moomintroll's eyes never leave his.

‘You smell different,’ Snufkin says without thinking and instantly regrets it. Moomintroll grins at him- Snufkin can always see it in his eyes. 

‘You don’t,’ he replies, leaning a bit closer and taking a deep breath as one might over a flowerbed. ‘You smell exactly the same. I missed it.’  
  
Snufkin's chest goes tight like rope. ‘Did you?’  
  
‘Ah. Well.’ Moomintroll retreats quickly, askance and he slips away from Snufkin's fingers. ‘Yeah. Tried not to though, promise.’  
  
Snufkin frowns. ‘Why would you try that?’  
  
‘It’s going to sound so silly,’ Moomintroll says before he sighs deeply. ‘I spent so long away trying to stop feeling the way I do about you. Every day I’d wake up and I’d think "Today. This is the day I set Snufkin free". But by night it wouldn’t matter, because I’d still have you in my heart as much as I did that morning.’

Snufkin doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s a lot to think about in even just that little bit of it all. 

‘I went really far,’ Moomintroll continues, looking out across the stream behind Snufkin. ‘Not as far you, mind. But you know, a fair bit all the same. And even that far away all I could think about was maybe I’d meet you out there. I figured if I met you by accident then it wasn’t- you know, it wasn’t like I was cheating the game or anything.’

Moomintroll’s tail flicks behind him and Snufkin holds his breath. 

‘Except it was definitely cheating,’ he says sadly. ‘Because it was just one more reason to not let you go, even when I said I would.’

Snufkin taps his harmonica against his palm. ‘Some things can’t be helped.’ 

‘Some things won’t be helped,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin looks to him, confused. Moomintroll is watching him so closely and for as long as it’s been, Snufkin suddenly feels they’ve never been closer. ‘Because there’s something I've got to tell you, Snufkin. Something I told you once and it’s something I should’ve told you over and over.’

‘Oh?’ Snufkin asks, quiet and breathless. ‘And what is that?’

‘I pick you,’ Moomintroll says and Snufkin is thrown back; back to that first moment where everything changed. It had been raining then. ‘I know love can’t be made or forced or changed. I do know that. But I learned something when I was away and it’s that love is a choice, too. And the thing is… well, if it’s going to be a choice of you, then I chose that.’ 

Snufkin nearly drops his harmonica, his hands have gone so slack as everything stops inside. He’s like a pocket-watch stuck, a line cut; he stares at Moomintroll's face and tries to make sense of it. He's a sentence interrupted. 

‘You don’t have to chose me,’ Moomintroll continues, quieter and he looks away. ‘I don’t want you thinking you have to, though I know- you- well, you wouldn’t think that anyway. Not one for those fuddy-duddy expectations, you are.’

How serious, he is trying to be and oh, how Snufkin might've laughed before. But it is not before, it is now.  
  
‘But I choose you anyway,’ Moomintroll says, paws right on the bridge's railing and Snufkin looks at them. Can’t stop looking really. ‘And I chose you, every day I was gone and every day I made my way back. Over and over. And I know you don’t choose me, not the way I do and at first, I couldn’t understand how we could mean anything to each other if it was going to be so different, but…’

Moomintroll stops then and Snufkin feels something snap inside. A terrible fright that Moomintroll might stop altogether and Snufkin wants him so desperately to never do so. 

‘But?’ he pushes, strained and so honestly, terribly, desperate. Moomintroll tenses his paws and when Snufkin looks to his face, his sees Moomintroll’s eyes are shining. 

‘But it just… didn’t matter,’ Moomintroll says, slow at first but then it all rushes out of him in one breath. ‘I know we can’t help how we feel. I know sometimes things happen we can’t control. But that feeling for you I have, the feeling I’ve always sort of had, I don’t want to let it go so I won’t. I pick you and I think I’m always going to pick you, because picking you is just my favourite choice to make.’

‘And what if…’ Snufkin swallows, nervous. ‘What if it makes you unhappy?’

‘It won’t,’ Moomintroll says firmly, looking to Snufkin and Snufkin aches. He aches so deep it may never end. ‘Being your friend has never made me unhappy.’ 

‘And when you were not my friend?’

‘I’ve always been your friend,’ Moomintroll says softly and he raises a paw, before thinking against it. It hovers between them. ‘I will always be your friend. No matter what else we will be or may never be again.’

‘It won’t be worth it,’ Snufkin says sadly for it is. Dreadfully sad though Snufkin knows he has no right. ‘You must know that.’

Moomintroll laughs and Snufkin frowns, wondering what could possibly be funny in that.   
  
'I know that it's not easy,' he says, coming close again. His paw hovers Snufkin's hand where it grips the railing. 'But I have always thought that it was worth it. Can't convince me otherwise, I'm afraid.'  
  
'I could never convince you of much,' Snufkin concedes and stops talking entirely when Moomintroll puts his paw on his hand. Snufkin's skin pimples at the back of his neck with a feeling too good to control.  
  
'I wouldn't say that, you're very convincing,' Moomintroll tells him, squeezing Snufkin's hand slightly. Snufkin is too overcome to move. 'It's so good to see you, Snufkin. Brilliant, really.'

'I was waiting for you,' Snufkin replies, looking from their paws to Moomintroll's face. Their eyes meet and it's a song not played yet, but music all the same. 'All backwards, you and I.'  
  
'Like Papa's clock being wound up for the New Year,' Moomintroll says, paw very warm around Snufkin's fingers. He narrows his eyes thoughtfully. 'How badly I wished for something like that a the beginning.'  
  
'And now at the ending?'  
  
'Is this an ending?'  
  
'That depends,' Snufkin says to him softly. 'Are you coming home or passing through?'  
  
'Coming home,' Moomintroll says resolutely. 'Definitely coming home.'  
  
'Then welcome home,' Snufkin replies, turning his hand to link their fingers together. Moomintroll smiles, squeezes Snufkin's hand and then rubs the soft fur of this thumb along the side of Snufkin's wrist. Over his pulse that rabbits like something skittish.   
  
'We never seem to meet at the right time,' says Moomintroll with a faraway gaze on the water. Snufkin follows it.   
  
'Anytime we meet is the right time. Or it is for me.'  
  
'And here you are,' Moomintroll says, lowly as though to himself. 'At the end.'   
  
'Or the beginning,' Snufkin adds sweetly and they look to each other again. There is so very much of it all. Snufkin asks without meaning to; 'So you still thought of me while you were away?' 

'Every day,' Moomintroll answers, cheeks fluffing slightly. He's blushing, Snufkin thinks fondly. 'If not every moment. Sometimes, I felt like I'd brought you along with me. I could hear you so clearly. Did you think of me?'  
  
'Sometimes never,' Snufkin says honestly. 'Sometimes all at once.'  
  
'What did you think of me?'  
  
'The most darling thought anyone could think of someone else,' Snufkin tells him and Moomintroll's eyes go very wide.   
  
'Still?'

'Always,' Snufkin says, quieter and near whispering as though it is some secret though it mustn't be. 'For so very long before and I fear forever after as well.'

'There doesn't have to be an after.'

Snufkin thinks that if he could hold everything in his hands like stones he'd push them altogether. The feelings would all bump together; stars and thoughts and moments all gathered up in his fingers like a cup and Snufkin would still not own a single part of it. He doesn't own Moomintroll's feeling and never will. It's... the most freeing thing to ever realise.   
  
'I wanted to stay,' Snufkin confesses and his throat is tight. 'That Winter. I had intended to stay.'  
  
'I should never have let you. It wasn't kind.'  
  
'You couldn't have stopped me,' Snufkin says for he needs to say it. For both of them. Indeed, there is much he needs to say. 'The staying-sickness... It wasn't... I mean-'  
  
It's so hard. Snufkin shuts his eyes, tries to steady his breath as it goes quick.  
  
'It was part of it,' he manages to say. 'But not all. It was just the two of us and all that meant. It meant a lot, too much to think about and it kept piling up like the snow. I would see you and the great future of it all and realise how things were going to change. You made it look so easy. The change.'  
  
Snufkin moves but Moomintroll tightens his grip, keeps their fingers together. Snufkin's eyes sting.   
  
‘It was easier to leave and let you change without looking,’ Snufkin says, strained. ‘Then I could not be blamed and if there was no blame, then there was nothing else to be held responsible for.’  
  
'What did you think you were responsible for?' Moomintroll asks and Snufkin shakes his head. Not because he doesn't know, but because he simply must move to ease the anxiety that bubbles inside.   
  
'Your heart,' Snufkin answers and Moomintroll's eyes go soft, sloping and kind. Snufkin looks away. 'It felt too heavy a thing to carry around with me. Too much like a root.'  
  
'I'm... sorry,' Moomintroll says and Snufkin cuts him off, a little frantic.   
  
'And then I couldn't come back, because I'd left and if I'd left, then you would have _been_ left and it would've made you different anyway!' Snufkin says, ridiculously quickly.  
  
Moomintroll looks confused and Snufkin wishes he could explain better but finds he can't.   
  
‘I thought if you changed, you’d change into someone who wouldn’t want me anymore. It was too scary a thought and more so when I realised how shackled I was by it,' says Snufkin, the words rushing together. 'So I left before you could and didn't come back in case you had.'  
  
Moomintroll doesn't say anything to that at first. Too long to be right and Snufkin feels ill, feels faint with a worry he never normally has. But Moomintroll is so close and Snufkin has been so... sad. He's just been so terribly, deeply sad and has wished this whole time to have his best-friend there to talk to about it. Snufkin is afraid of losing him.  
  
'I...'  
  
Snufkin blinks and feels his eyes are wet, but no tears falls. A small mercy, at least.   
  
'I missed you,' he says because that is the simple fact of it. He squeezes Moomintroll's paw. 'I missed you, Moomintroll.'  
  
Moomintroll smiles, a little sadder than what Snufkin remembers. 'I missed you, too, Snufkin.'  
  
  
*/  
  
  
It's perfectly inevitable that there would be a party.   
  
Snufkin lingers at the edge of it in the living room of Moominhouse, chest seizing when he looks around the room and doesn't see Moomintroll right away. Moomintroll is very busy; he has been gone so very long and everyone has so many questions. The Snorks are coming in the morning after a long and squeaky phonecall between Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden earlier and now Too-Ticky has arrived, a basket full of sweet treats. Sniff is delighted.   
  
There's music and there's laughter. A lot of noise and light and the sound of Moomintroll's voice. Snufkin adores the sound of Moomintroll's voice.   
  
But it's all so very much. Snufkin slips out to the veranda, into the blue night and leaves the door open behind him. He can still here Moomintroll from here, even over the merriment and he waits. He's never had an invitation ignored.   
  
Moomintroll joins him. He closes the door behind him and they stand together, watching night in the valley. Across from them, a few leaves break away from the trees and fall to the ground. Autumn is half-way through already.  
  
'You'd swear I'd gone off to war or something,' Moomintroll says of inside, jerking his head back towards the door. Snufkin laughs.  
  
'Don't tell me you're unhappy over having a party thrown in your honour.'  
  
'Well now, I didn't say that,' Moomintroll teases, bumping his shoulder to Snufkin's. 'But I could do with less questions on how I _survived._ Honestly, I'm a grown Moomin! How do they think I survived? I used my impeccable adventure skills!'  
  
'It has all sounded quite impressive, I must say,' Snufkin tells him fondly. Snufkin strongly suspects some aspects of what he's heard so far has been slightly embellished.   
  
'I'm glad you think so,' Moomintroll says brightly. 'If you're impressed, I consider the job a good'un really.'   
  
Snufkin laughs and blushes. He just turns warm all over. He meets Moomintroll's eye, smiles at him as it feels good to do so. Snufkin really has missed him dreadfully.   
  
But Moomintroll doesn't smile back.   
  
'It's Autumn,' he says and Snufkin's laugh hasn't quite died out yet, hiccuping in the middle when he replies; 'Yes, so?'  
  
'You're leaving,' Moomintroll says and Snufkin blinks, suddenly quiet. He looks out into the dark trees.   
  
'Yes,' Snufkin says for when has he ever been able to lie about it? 'Tomorrow, I think.'  
  
Now Moomintroll laughs, but it isn't very happy. It's the sad, quiet huff of someone who knows how the story ends. Snufkin can't look at him for it. 'Maybe you were right earlier. We are backwards. I should've hurried home, gotten here sooner.'

'You got here when you were supposed to.'  
  
'I wish I had more time all the same.'  
  
'What you said before,' Snufkin starts, fidgeting with the ends of his scarf. 'About choosing me.'  
  
'What about it?' Moomintroll says, too casual to be genuine.   
  
'I think-' Snufkin pauses, unsteady in himself. 'Choosing to come back is my favourite choice.'  
  
Snufkin knows that isn't the same as Moomintroll's choice. He knows that it's probably not very fair. But it is true none the less for choosing to comeback brings him back to Moomintroll, and for that Snufkin will always choose it. 

Everything else is just some of many different parts. _Never all,_ Snufkin thinks. Snufkin is not a creature for all... except for now, he thinks it is time to be different.

When moving towards what he wants, Snufkin has decided to give all instead of some. 

‘Choosing to come back,’ Snufkin continues. ‘But I think I shall like to try choosing something else.’

’Like what?’

’Like you.’

’Really?’ Moomintroll replies, eager and Snufkin flushes himself, bashful.   
  
'Will you still think about me? Not just to miss me but also... will you think of me as darling?' Snufkin asks and he hopes Moomintroll understands what he's asking.

_Will you be in love with me still?_

  
Moomintroll blinks a few times, eyes shiny in the lantern light. He nods.   
  
'Will you think of me the same?'

 _And will you love me back?_  
  
Snufkin nods, heart so full of all he thinks, will think and may forever think.   
  
He reaches into his pocket for the second page of Moomintroll's letter. He's kept it in his pocket all this time and it's terribly frayed, almost coming apart from the folds. But he takes it out and opens it, amused and tender at Moomintroll's look of confusion. Snufkin holds the letter out, smiling when Moomintroll takes it and fluffs up all over again.   
  
'I liked what you wrote.'  
  
'Right. Yeah,' Moomintroll mumbles, awkward. He clears his throat, looks up; 'Well, saying hello to you is one of my favourite things.'  
  
'Not that part,' Snufkin says gently, tapping the edge of the page. 'The bits you wrote and changed your mind on.'  
  
Moomintroll fluffs sticks up more. 'Oh. Right.'  
  
'You didn't have to ask me though,' Snufkin says, afraid and eager and aching. 'I waited anyway.'  
  
'You did,' Moomintroll replies, sounding a little awed.   
  
'And I never asked you-'  
  
'But I waited, too,' Moomintroll finishes and Snufkin nods. Moomintroll leans closer. 'I'll always wait for you, Snuf. You're my best-friend.'  
  
'Oh,' Snufkin says, reaching out to the touch Moomintroll's wrist. He loops his fingers there, too narrow and not long enough to meet on the other side but closer all the same. 'Moomintroll, my friend. My very dear one.'  
  
There is so much more to say. Snufkin wants to talk for the rest of the night, wants to right up until he can't any longer and must head back down the wood path. 

‘First day of Spring,’ Snufkin says, promising. ‘You’ll have me again.’

Moomintroll inches closer. ‘Will I?’

’Like the flowers. We let it come back to us.’   
  
It all so very uncertain. But Moomintroll has chosen him, said that he would do so again. Snufkin wants to come back to that choice and make his own.   
  


It’s been two years, nearly. They are different now. But Snufkin likes to think, feels a cautious flame inside that he might even know that they will make the right choices and come back together again. Snufkin is ready to try again. He’s ready to find his way. 

  
'This is my Autumn letter,' Snufkin says of the page and Moomintroll raises an eyebrow at him. Snufkin shrugs. 'I know it may be cheating a little, but consider the fact that you wrote it for me and therefore it is mine. Not yours.'  
  
'Uh...' Moomintroll looks confused and Snufkin laughs again.   
  
'Which means you are only borrowing it,' Snufkin says and he lets go of Moomintroll's wrist. He puts two fingers to Moomintroll's snout, right on the end of his nose. Holds Moomintroll there like a branch holds the swallow. 'I will want it back.'  
  
Moomintroll leans into Snufkin's touch and Snufkin's heart closes like a fist over something small, soft and sacred.   
  
'Then let me mind it for you.'  
  
'I would trust it to no one else,' Snufkin says earnestly, letting Moomintroll go and stepping away. 'You best get back. They'll be missing you.'

  
'Let them,' Moomintroll says, holding the page to his chest. 'Someone else should do the missing for a while, give us a break.'  
  
'Oh, but no one does it better than us,' Snufkin replies and Moomintroll shakes his head.  
  
'You have to do something for me before you go though.'  
  
'Do I?'  
  
'Play me a song,' Moomintroll says and oh, how could Snufkin refuse him?   
  
Snufkin takes his harmonica from his pocket. He leans back against the beam of the veranda and crosses his legs. Moomintroll leans against the other and they stand, facing each other as Snufkin lifts the harmonica up. He takes a breath, slow and steady. There's a song inside that's been waiting for a while now, after all.  
  
When Snufkin starts playing, Moomintroll smiles and even though Snufkin can't quite see, he can still tell.   
  
Snufkin can always tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _But here I am with arms unfolding, I guess it isn't quite the end._  
>  _Oh, partner in crime, I'm going to try and fall in love with you again_  
>  \- arms unfolding, dodie
> 
> **The End**

**Author's Note:**

> www.boorishbint.tumblr.com


End file.
